


A Universal Concept

by aprilraven



Series: A Universal Concept [1]
Category: Transformers, Transformers (2007), Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M, Romance/General
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-11
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-17 23:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 91,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprilraven/pseuds/aprilraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is love? Is it an instinct? An emotion? Or an ability that can transcend species? After eons of conflict, the war-weary Autobots have a new home, a new life, and a chance for something more. And for a single Decepticon, a chance for salvation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**~Prologue~**

“What? You want to what?”

The saboteur patiently repeated his request. His leader stared back at him with a completely befuddled look on his face, and reached up to give the side of his own head a few taps.

“I’m sorry, Jazz. My audials appear to be malfunctioning. It almost sounded like you were asking my permission to initiate mating behaviors with one of the humans.”

“No boss, your audials are fine. That’s exactly what I’m requestin’. Oh, and Bumblebee would like ta, also.”

Prime’s jaw servos dropped slightly; his CPU sputtered in disbelief.

::Ratchet, how fast can you get to my office?:: Prime commed the CMO urgently through their private link. ::I think Jazz’s logic processors just failed::

::On my way:: the medic replied.

Jazz was looking at him expectantly.

“That’s… uuuhhhh… not possible,” Prime finally replied.

Jazz smirked at the large mech and slid a datapad across the desk.

“Sure it is, boss. I looked it up. Check it out for yourself.”

Prime picked it up and read it, and his processors promptly went into a stall.

“Primus Below.”

He put the datapad down and slowly scrubbed a hand over his faceplates. He’d walked right into that one. And he really should have known better. Jazz was never one to neglect the details of a plan, even one as impossible as this seemed to be. That more than anything else, reassured him that Jazz was really back with them.

He looked up to see the small silver mech watching him again, the glow behind his visor bright, his mouth curving up into that sly, secretive little smile he remembered so well.

“Ratch is on his way here, isn’t he?” his Second asked. Prime chuckled and nodded, relaxing back into his chair.

“Couldn’t slip that one by you, could I? It’s just a precaution. I thought your logic processors had melted there for a moment, then mine almost melted too, so he may as well check us both out.”

Jazz laughed, the sound deep and rich and full of life. Prime smiled affectionately at him.

“In case I haven’t mentioned it, Jazz, you were missed. Terribly.”

Jazz nodded, returning the smile. “Thanks, boss. And yeah, ya’ve mentioned it, several times now. I missed all of ya, too.”

“Do you remember anything?” Prime asked, his optics brightening with curiosity.

A confused look came over the silver mech’s face. “I’m not sure. It’s kinda hard ta describe… sorta foggy…” He trailed off as Ratchet entered the office and immediately proceeded to run a scan on him.

Jazz pointed to Optimus. “Him too, Ratchet. He told me his processors had a melted feeling.”

Ratchet snorted. “And I would blame you entirely for that, Jazz.”

“Who me?” Jazz asked innocently. “What’d I do?”

The medic huffed and gave the helmeted head a smack before moving around the desk to where Prime sat. “Please. Don’t expect me to fall for that. A new world, a new species, a mech with a new lease on life… the mind boggles at all the trouble you could get into here.”

Jazz gave the medic a lopsided grin as he rubbed his helmet. “Gee Ratch, that was practically a love tap compared to what ya usually dish out. I didn’t know ya cared.”

Ratchet huffed again, but his lips twitched with a smile as he scanned Optimus. “I don’t. But I just got you online again, Jazz. I can’t afford to undo all my work.”

The hum of the scan stopped. “You’re both fine. What was so urgent?”

Prime picked up the datapad and handed it to the medic. “Take a look at this and tell me what you think.”

One of the advantages of being trained in the sciences, Prime thought as he watched Ratchet. The medic’s processors didn’t seem to be stumbling nearly as hard as his had.

“Interesting,” the medic commented several times. He finished and handed the datapad back to Prime. “It appears we could use this method to interface with the humans. Very intriguing.”

Jazz’s grin was pure triumph. “See? Ratch approves.”

The medic snorted at that. “I didn’t say I approved. I said it was intriguing. In theory. In fact, I think it’s a terrible idea.”

Prime leaned back in his chair with a gusty sigh of air from his vents.

“I have to agree. To be honest, this is far from the best idea you’ve ever had, Jazz. The humans are not lab subjects. They are sentient beings and our allies, and you should not be experimenting on them.”

“Nah, it won’t be like that at all, I swear. I’m gonna ask first.”

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Jazz’s visor dimmed a little with disappointment, and Prime felt a twinge of guilt.

“I’m not saying you can’t establish your usual cultural exchanges with selected members of a new species, Jazz. But I think it would be best if you stick with the standard guidelines on this,” Prime suggested gently.

“But this falls within _their_ guidelines, and I’m just tryin’ ta be flexible here.”

Prime and Ratchet looked at each other.

“You’re joking,’ Ratchet said.

“They have guidelines for _this_?” Prime asked.

“Yeah, they do. It’s all over the Web. All kinds of stories and movies and information about aliens and first contact and all, and quite a few of ‘em are about interfacin’ with aliens and becomin’ mates with ‘em.”

“Primus Below,” Prime muttered again. Ratchet huffed in surprise.

“Amazingly open-minded for a young species, and very atypical, too. Most are too xenophobic at this stage for any kind of contact with other races.”

“Right,” Jazz nodded, ‘my thoughts exactly. Very unusual. I think we owe it to them and ourselves to explore all the differences and figure out what makes them so unique. And we’ve already established the initial stages of first-contact with them. I’m just aimin’ for a really up-close and in-depth version of my usual interspecies cultural exchange project.”

“I hardly think this qualifies as a typical first-contact situation, considering our presence was forced on them,” Ratchet pointed out.

“Agreed,” Optimus added. “And I’m not sure about the in-depth version, Jazz. Just because you _can_ do this, doesn’t mean you should. The humans are very fragile, for one thing, and they break quite easily. You might end up hurting one of them without even realizing it. But even more important, they are sentient beings, and they have the right to make their own choices.”

“I will ask first, Optimus,” Jazz insisted. “Lay it all out for ‘em and let ‘em make the decision for themselves.”

Prime pushed the datapad back towards his Second and regarded him.

“Okay, Jazz. Tell me why.” The silver mech opened his mouth, and Prime held a hand up. “Your own personal reasons, Jazz.”

Jazz closed his mouth again. His visor dimmed down. There was silence in the office. Prime exchanged a glance with Ratchet. The medic shook his head, as mystified as Prime.

Prime cleared his vocalizer. “Jazz,” he began, “if you’d rather-“

The silver mech’s soft, deep voice stopped him. “All those endless vorns of war, and then even more vorns spent lookin’ for the cube. There was no chance ta stay and explore any of the worlds we searched, no time ta learn about the inhabitants. It was search and move on, as fast as we could.”

Jazz’s voice grew softer, his accent thickening with emotion.

“Do ya realize how long it’s been since I’ve gotten the chance ta use mah instincts and skills as the alien cultural liaison, Optimus? I felt sometimes like I left a part o’ mahself behind on each o’ those worlds, I wanted ta stay that badly.

“And then when we first got here, remember how excited I was? A brand new world, with not one culture but thousands of ‘em, an’ a young race that changed right before mah very optics. And this time, I could stay an’ explore an’ discover everythin’ about them. I was like a starvin’ mech let loose on an endless feast.

“But then the war caught up again. We found Sam, then the Allspark, and we finally ended up in Mission City. An’ then Megatron found us.”

Jazz’s frame tensed, quivering. “I lied, Ratchet. I remember everythin’ that happened.” Prime’s jaw clenched. Ratchet hissed out a breath. “I remember Megatron comin’, you callin’ the retreat, but I saw all those humans, some o’ them runnin’, some o’ them too scared ta move, and I couldn’t just watch ‘em die. So I stayed. I tried ta buy ‘em some time.”

Jazz’s visor retracted. He looked up into Prime’s optics. “I remember every moment of it. I remember the pain. I remember screamin’ as he ripped me apart. And I remember my last thought was regret that I would never get the chance ta explore Earth an’ the humans an’ all their cultures.”

Prime’s own optics dimmed with guilt. He rose from his chair and went to the window and stood staring out. Jazz’s pain-filled voice continued behind him.

“All these thousands of vorns of fightin’ an’ searchin’ an’ fightin’ again. I need somethin’ more, Optimus, somethin’ besides war and death. I checked all the records we had. This is somethin’ that’s never been done before, a relationship like this with another species. I need this, Optimus; I need this chance ta explore somethin’ new an’ different, before the war starts up again, before I offline permanently. I need this chance ta stop an’ rest an’ actually _live_.”

Prime stood gazing out the window for several more minutes before he turned back to Jazz. The silver mech’s visor was back in place. He was looking at the datapads in his hands.

“If I agree to this, Jazz, I would expect you and Bumblebee to make yourselves aware of the humans’… sensitivities, regarding what you’re attempting here. They may be small organics, but they have feelings the same as we do.”

The saboteur looked up hopefully, his visor brightening. “Of course, Optimus. Explorin’ all the ins-and-outs of an alien culture is one of the things I do best. I’m gonna take this real slow, and be very careful. That way there’ll be no surprises, and no one’s gonna get hurt. I promise.”

“Very well, then. You are to oversee Bumblebee and relay all the necessary information and warnings to him as well. You are not to proceed without the explicit permission of whichever human agrees to this. And I do mean explicit. The last thing I need is an interspecies incident while I’m trying to work out a treaty with the humans. Are we clear, Jazz?”

“Like a crystal, boss,” his Second assured him, and Prime couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Jazz so eager, happy and excited about anything. “And try not ta worry. I’ve got my AI workin’ overtime plannin’ everythin’. I’ve even got a potential candidate all picked out.”

“Ah. And who would that be?”

“Our newest recruit, Maggie Madsen.”

Ratchet rolled his optics. “The one who fell over your foot trying to get away from Prime? Oh, she sounds promising.”

Jazz’s smile was confident. “She just prefers a smaller size is all. She’s been watchin’ me. I know she’s interested.”

“She’s only been here a month,” Prime cautioned him.

”We’re already friends, Optimus. That’s an important first step.”

Prime looked at Ratchet. The medic shook his head and stood to leave.

“Well, if they get broken, don’t expect me to fix them.”

Prime’s raised an optic ridge. “They’re under your care, too, Ratchet,” he reproved mildly.

The medic flashed him an irritated look.

::You wouldn’t deny Jazz anything right now, would you?:: Ratchet grumbled through their private link.

::Could you?:: Prime asked wryly. ::In all the long vorns we’ve been fighting, he’s never once asked for anything, then he sacrifices himself without a second thought to buy everyone else time to get away from Megatron. That was my fault, I should have been there fighting Megatron, not him. I got there too late, and he was already gone. His re-sparking is nothing less than a miracle. Now he finally comes to me with a request, something just for himself, and who am I to deny him?::

The medic’s own optic ridge quirked up. ::’Something just for himself.’ How ironic, coming from you, Optimus::

Prime’s look was puzzled. ::I don’t understand::

Ratchet sighed. ::Never mind. I’ll take care of the humans::

Prime nodded and turned to Jazz. “You may begin your project at your own discretion. But remember, the humans have feelings too. Don’t hurt them, Jazz,” he warned.

“And if I catch so much as a hint that you or Bumblebee have damaged or broken them somehow, you’ll have _me_ to answer to, as well,” Ratchet added.

“No worries, boss, Ratch. I got it all covered.” Jazz stood up to leave, his smile equal parts relief and elation. He stopped at the door, turning back to look at Prime. “Thanks, Optimus,” he said quietly. “This means a lot ta me.”

Prime’s answering smile was warm; his blue optics deep-hued with affection. “You’re welcome, Jazz. Next time, don’t wait so long to ask for something you really want.”

Jazz chuckled. “Gotcha. I’m gonna get all my requests in _before_ I off-line again. Thanks again, and you too, Ratch.” His smile slipped a little when he looked at the medic, who was looking at Prime. He murmured his thanks again and left, shutting the door behind him.

“Thank you for your input on this, Ratchet, and I appreciate your willingness-“ Prime broke off at the frustrated sound from the medic. “What? Is something wrong?”

“’Don’t wait so long.’ Are you doing this on purpose, Optimus, or is the irony really lost on you?”

“Doing what on purpose?” Prime asked, confused. “I don’t understand.”

The medic’s look was stony. “Of course you don’t.” He stalked to the door and paused. “Jazz is right. We’re all tired, worn down by this endless conflict. We need something more, something that means life, not death. But you’ll just bury yourself in your work, the same as you always do.”

The door slammed shut and Prime stared at it in shock, his audials ringing with the reverberations.

 _tbc_

______________________

A/N: This story idea started life as a one-pairing, one shot featuring Ironhide/Sarah. Then more characters appeared and asked me to write a story for them, too. Then the characters started appearing in each other's stories, and I finally decided to try and combine all the characters into just one story. They have totally taken over now, and this little fic that was begun back in August 2008 has continued to grow, and grow, and it is still a work in progress.

My thanks to LadyDragon76 for betaing and providing constant (I am NOT kidding) feedback, support, enthusiasm and friendship, especially when I just wanted to tear my hair out and walk away. She is the main reason this is getting posted at all. She simply refused to allow me to give up on it. My heartfelt thanks also to LB82 on DA who read my scribbles, and provided feedback and truly wonderful insights. She has also gifted me with some stunning artwork inspired by various scenes in my fic. When I post those chapters, she'll post the pictures on her DA site and I'll link to them from here. It is amazing... truly. I can never thank her enough.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Hasbro has it all.


	2. Chapter 1

  
**~Chapter 1~**   


**Maggie’s Arrival—One month ago**

“And here’s the Rec Room.”

The two girls entered and Maggie paused to look around. “Oh my gosh, Mikaela, this place is enormous.”

Mikaela nodded. “It has to be. Everyone, human and Autobot, likes to gather here in the evenings.”

“Who did you say is living here again? You and Sam, and I remember Bumblebee from Hoover Dam.”

“Right, and there’s Jazz, Ratchet and Optimus Prime, and we’re expecting more Autobots to get to Earth soon. There’s also Ironhide, but he lives offbase with Will and Sarah Lennox and their daughter, Annabelle. He’s their guardian. They come every week to visit and for check-ups. Ummm… well, not so much visiting anymore. Mostly just check-ups. And not Will, just Sarah and Annabelle. Sarah hasn’t been doing too well. Neither has Ironhide, and Ratchet keeps a close optic on them. I’m not quite sure what’s been going on over there.”

Mikaela dismissed the topic with a wave and pointed over to two doors set into the far wall, one extremely large, the other a normal size.

“Those doors lead out to the back of the Base. To the left of them is temporary storage, but we can skip that. Come this way.”

Mikaela led her to a small area off to the right.

“The Autobots put everything as close together as possible for us, but it’s still a hike to get around. This is the kitchen area. Nice and cozy, with furniture just for us, ‘cause they don’t eat the same way we do. We take turns keeping the place clean. Sam was thrilled to hear we were getting another recruit. He whines worse than his dog when it comes to cleaning anything. Honestly. Men.”

Mikaela rolled her eyes and Maggie laughed.

“And over here…” Mikaela led the way past several huge pieces of furniture.

“Oh my gosh,” Maggie repeated faintly, stopping to stare up at them. “How big are the Autobots anyway?”

“They’re all different sizes. Here. Check this out.”

Maggie joined the dark-haired girl in the smaller seating area with a sigh of relief at the normal-sized furniture.

Mikaela patted her shoulder. “I know. The size difference is a bit overwhelming at first, but you’ll get used to it. Take a look at this, our very own home theatre. The Autobots like to watch with us too, but they drag their own chairs over or just sit on the floor.”

Maggie’s breath caught at the sight of the huge screen on the wall and the equally huge speakers set around the seating area. “This can’t be a home system. That’s as big as a real movie theatre screen!”

Mikaela smirked. “It _is_ a real movie theatre screen. The speakers are the same as in a theatre, too. And so’s the popcorn machine. The candy we keep in the kitchen. There’s a stereo, we have tons of movies, and over 500 channels on satellite TV. Oh, and we also have a Wii, Playstation and Xbox, there’s computers in that corner over there, and dozens of games.”

Maggie let out her breath in a sigh of bliss. “I’m pinching myself here, seriously. But how did you afford all this?”

“Hehe, we didn’t. The government did. Optimus told Sam and I to make a list of whatever we needed to be happy and comfortable here, so we did. And the government is willing to do almost anything to keep Optimus happy. Okay, last stop, the Medbay, then I’ll take you to your quarters. The furniture came yesterday, and Sam and Bumblebee took care of it. God knows what kind of arrangement they came up with, so be prepared to shove stuff around.”

The two girls left the Rec Room and crossed the hallway to another set of large and small doors, both of them standing open. Mikaela waved her hand in a flourish. “And here you are at my new school-slash-workplace, the Medbay, where Ratchet rules with an iron fist. He’s the medic and my mentor. I’m in a work-study program under his guidance, with heavy emphasis on the ‘work’ part. I swear I’ve never worked so hard in my life.”

Maggie pointed up at the large sign hanging next to the open door of the mechs’ entry.

“Those symbols are beautiful. What language is that?”

“Oh that’s Cybertronian. Ratchet put that up almost as soon as we got here.”

”Do you know what they mean?”

Mikaela shrugged and turned away. “No idea, but my guess is either, All Employees Must Wash Hands, or Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here. Let me tell you, every tale of torture you’ll ever hear about this place is absolutely true.”

Maggie’s laughter choked off abruptly; her eyes widened.

“Oh god, he’s behind me, isn’t he?” Mikaela groaned.

Maggie nodded weakly and started backing away slowly. Mikaela winced and mouthed, ‘Shit!’ before turning and looking up at the gigantic Autobot medic.

“Oh, hi Ratchet. I didn’t realize you were here.”

“Obviously,” the medic replied dryly. “And you’re 20 minutes late for training.”

“Uhhh… right. Sorry. I was just showing our newest recruit around the Base. Maggie, this is Ratchet, our Chief Medical Officer. Ratchet, this is Maggie Madsen, our new signals analyst.”

The medic nodded curtly. “Pleased to meet you.” He turned his head and called over his shoulder, “Jazz, you’re good to go.”

Mikaela’s face fell. “Awww. I missed his exam!”

“Yes, you did,” the medic replied, his tone completely lacking in sympathy. “Maybe that will help you remember to be on time.”

A smaller silver Autobot came to the door of the Medbay, chuckling. “Abandon Hope, huh? I like that ‘Kaela!”

Mikaela started snickering, caught Ratchet’s optics on her, and tried to muffle it. Jazz bent down, the glow from under his visor brightening. “And who’s the little lady with ya?”

Mikaela pulled a reluctant Maggie from behind her, pushing her towards the silver mech. “Jazz, this is Maggie Madsen, the new signals analyst. Maggie, this is Jazz, Second in Command of the Autobots.”

“Nice ta meet ya, Miss Maggie,” Jazz grinned, inclining his head slightly.

“Just Maggie, please,” the girl corrected with a hesitant smile. “And it’s nice to meet you, too.”

“That’s an interestin’ accent ya got there. Where’re ya from?”

“Oh, she’s from Australia, Jazz.”

“Australia, huh?”

Ratchet suddenly blew out air with a loud huffing sound.

“If the introductions are over, there are five datapads with new information waiting for you, Mikaela. I suggest you study. I’ll be testing you on the material in two hours.”

“Two hours! Ratchet, that’s not fair! I can’t possibly learn all that in only-“

“1 hour, 59 minutes and 30 seconds.”

Mikaela’s mouth dropped open and snapped shut again.

“Slavedriver!” she accused.

The medic looked down at her. An optic ridge hiked slowly upward.

“1 hour and 58 minutes. And counting,” he added calmly.

Brown eyes glared, blue optics narrowed.

Maggie watched as student and teacher locked stares with each other for a long, silent moment. Ratchet finally gave a slight snort, and Mikaela relaxed.

“You’re impossible,” she stated, smiling up at the huge yellow Autobot.

Ratchet’s lips twitched. “Go study, Mikaela,” he told her, motioning her inside. “I’ll be right in to answer any questions.”

Mikaela grinned, waved at Maggie, and disappeared into the Medbay.

Maggie looked over at Jazz with a puzzled frown. “What happened? What’d I just miss?”

Jazz shook his head, chuckling. “Looks like ‘Kaela got a reprieve. Those two, they have their own private signals goin’ on with each other.”

“And you.” The huge yellow Autobot was suddenly pointing a very large finger at Maggie. She took a step backward, trying not to panic. “I’ll see you back here this afternoon at 1400 hours for your checkup.”

She gulped and nodded. “Yessir.”

The medic turned and went into the Medbay, and Maggie tried to collect her scattered thoughts. They had to be around here somewhere.

“Don’t mind Ratch. He’s always cranky settlin’ inta a new place.” Maggie let out a gasp and whirled to see Jazz squatting down beside her, looking almost as huge as the medic. “Hey, ya seem a little tense there, Maggie. How ya feelin’?”

“Small. Really, _really_ small,” she blurted nervously, eyeing the very large silver Autobot hovering over her.

Jazz’s mouth actually opened in surprise and then he burst out laughing, the sound rolling out from him, rich and full. Maggie half-expected him to lift his visor and wipe away tears. She started giggling herself, the sound was so infectious. Nice laugh, she thought, and relaxed a little as she watched him.

His laughter died down to deep chuckles. “That’s not the answer I was expectin’ but yeah, I guess ya would be feelin’ kinda small around us.” He gazed down at her, his visor glowing brightly, a smile still playing around his lips. “Where’re ya headed ta now?”

“Oh.” Maggie frowned, realizing she’d lost her guide. “I have no idea. Mikaela was supposed to show me my quarters and then I guess I need to report to my new boss, but I don’t know where he is either.”

“No problem,” Jazz told her, standing up. “I’ll take ya there myself.” He looked over at the Rec Room. “I could use some breakfast first. How ‘bout you? Ya hungry? Thirsty?”

“Uh, sure. I wouldn’t mind a soda.”

Breakfast, Maggie mused, following him into the Rec Room. He eats breakfast. She went over to the small kitchen area and selected a can from the refrigerator, and turned to find Jazz already standing behind her with a glowing cube in his hand. She jumped and almost dropped her soda. Now how did he manage to move so fast? She hadn’t even heard him!

He patted the kitchen chair nearest him and waited. Maggie looked from the chair to him and back to the chair again, completely confused.

“Ladies first,” Jazz said, his tone smooth and inviting.

Maggie gaped in disbelief and then blushed. “Oh, sorry!” He waited politely for her to take a seat, before lowering himself to the floor next to her.

She took a small sip from her soda and watched, fascinated, as Jazz raised the glowing cube that contained a swirling, luminescent liquid. Half the contents vanished in one swallow. She heard a long blow of air like a sigh, followed by a low hum.

“Mmmm, that’s good.” His look was sheer bliss, his voice a velvety purr of contentment. The liquid swirled and glowed and his visor brightened to match it. “How’s your soda?”

Maggie shook her head, feeling the urge to pinch herself. A large silver robotic alien who had better manners than most men she knew, who drank his breakfast from a cube that contained a strange glowing liquid, and then inquired solicitously about her ordinary, everyday soda.

“Unbelievable,” she murmured.

She looked up at his deep chuckle. “Never heard a soda called that before. Must be _really_ good.”

Maggie laughed at that. “No, I meant… here… all of this… everything...“ She gestured around, her hands fluttering. “It’s just so…

“Weird?”

“That too, but I was going to say, amazing. It’s like a dream come true for me, too,” she confessed with a shy smile. “I feel like I’ve stepped into a science fiction story. I’ve always wanted to go to other worlds, meet aliens and learn all about them. I used to bury myself in those kinds of books when I was younger.”

She heard a deep hum and looked up at the large silver mech. His visor glowed a soft blue.

“That’s somethin’ we have in common then. Likin’ new worlds and wantin’ ta meet aliens. And now ya have.”

“I sure have,” she smiled. “Although I wasn’t really expecting the aliens to be so big.”

“Just give it some time. You’ll get used to us,” Jazz assured her. “So, when we’re done here, ya wanna go check out your quarters first or your workplace?”

Jazz watched the smile slip off her face. “I guess I should go meet my new boss and make sure I actually _am_ staying,” she said slowly.

His head tilted to the side. “And why would ya not be?” he asked curiously.

Her eyes flickered up to him and back down again. She turned her soda can around in little circles, her cheeks coloring. “I’m afraid I don’t fit in too well with normal people. My best friends are geeks and computer hackers, and I’m one, too. I love signals analysis, but I get very wrapped up in my work. I’m too intense about it, really. My brain just takes these flying leaps and then things come out wrong. I got fired from my last two jobs for telling my bosses _they_ were wrong—in front of everyone. I’m not sure why Secretary Keller thinks I’m perfect for this job when it’s not even up to me, but to my new boss.”

She shrugged. “I’m just going to tell him everything, right up front. Then he can decide whether he wants to deal with the hacker-geek, or tell me not to bother unpacking. I really would like to stay though,” she added softly.

Jazz took another swallow from his cube, studying her. She didn’t look or think or even sound like the other two humans on the base. This little femme was a walking, talking culture all her own. Intriguing.

Maggie stopped fiddling with her soda can. “You know my new boss, don’t you, Jazz?”

“Well, yes-“

“He’ll listen to me when I try and tell him something, right?”

Jazz nodded. “Sure, and in fact-”

“And hopefully he isn’t as stubborn as my last boss. That man was the absolute worst when it came to insisting on doing things his way.”

Jazz looked at her and started to smile. “Nah, he isn’t stubborn. He’s the laid back type, easy ta get along with.”

“Tell me he isn’t a complete idiot.”

Jazz’s smile got a little bigger. “Not completely, no.”

“That’s a relief, then. Okay, I guess I’m ready to meet him now.”

Jazz grinned. “Good.” He placed his empty cube on the kitchen table and inclined his head to her. “Hi Maggie. It’s a pleasure ta meet ya. I’m Jazz, your new boss.”

He watched Maggie’s eyes grow round and her mouth drop open. Her cheeks turned a bright red color. “Oh. My. _God_.”

“Relax, Maggie,” he chuckled.

“Oh my god,” she repeated with a sigh. “Are you going to show me to the exit, or should I just find my own way out?”

“Nah. I’m actually gonna show ya ta your quarters now, then later on you and I can get ta work.”

She looked at him doubtfully. “Really?”

Jazz nodded and smiled. “Really.”

He flipped up half his visor with a finger. One optic dimmed and brightened again in a slow wink. “I think you and I’ll get along just fine. Welcome ta the Autobot Base, Maggie.”

 _tbc_


	3. Chapter 2

~Chapter 2~

 **Medbay—One week after Maggie’s arrival**

He was watched very carefully, the first weeks after his resparking. It was always a questionable process, whether mechs who were brought back in this way were really all ‘there.’ Some were fine, whole and complete and themselves again, while others… well, others simply did not want to be back and soon gave up and offlined again, despite Ratchet’s best efforts. Not enough to live for, the spark was damaged somehow, that part that made every mech unique from every other had already moved on, Primus himself stepped in to reclaim them, and so on and so forth. Those were the prevailing theories, but it was always hard, so hard for the medic to step back, and let his patients go back to wherever they had been. It was not in him to give up, not easily, and certainly not without a fight.

Jazz did come back and did seem himself, to everyone’s relief, but questions remained, and so for those first weeks he was seldom alone, not even to recharge, which occurred in the Medbay under Ratchet’s supervision and the monitors’ steady humming.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ratchet finished his adjustments. “All right. Slowly now.” He stepped back to watch while the saboteur stretched.

“Feels fine, Ratch. Thanks.” Jazz’s movements turned vigorous. “Yeah, feels real- Ouch!”

“Are we learning yet?” the medic asked sardonically. “I said _slowly_.”

“Stop that,” he ordered when Jazz commenced rubbing at his waist. He brushed the smaller mech’s hand aside and opened the plating to reveal a kinked cable. “Now hold still, or you’ll be spending the evening right here, instead of at your party. Mikaela, take a look and tell me the steps you’d take to correct it.”

The little femme moved across the exam table to where Jazz waited, and peered at the cable in his side.

“This one with the knot in it?”

“Yes.”

“Look’s like he’s got a cramp.”

Jazz started smiling, the glow from his visor flickering rapidly as he accessed the internet. Ratchet looked at his student. “He’s got a what?”

“A cramp, you know, muscle cramps? It looks painful, too. I’d either give him some Motrin or have him stick his hand in and start working it out.”

“Motrin,” the medic repeated slowly as he conducted his own internet search. Jazz winked at the small femme and Mikaela grinned. Ratchet caught the exchange and huffed, not in the least amused.

“This is _not_ a muscle, making Motrin a wildly inappropriate choice, Mikaela. Your second course of action would be more suitable. The cable has involuntarily and forcibly contracted due to strain, and a gentle massage should correct the problem.” The medic crossed his arms and scowled at Jazz. “Along with the threat of dire consequences if the glitchhead does it again.”

Jazz gave him a cocky grin and began working out the kink. “Heh, that’s nothin’, ‘Kaela. He used ta threaten ta offline me himself, but ol’ Megs beat him to it.”

Ratchet glared at him. “That’s not funny! Do you know, do you have _any_ idea what I- How we all-” The medic’s vocalizer cut out on a burst of static. A tremor shook the larger mech, naked pain flared in his optics. He turned away abruptly, but not before Jazz saw the crack in the gruff exterior. Mikaela made a soft noise on the table next to him. He looked down to see her mouth rounded in an ‘oh’ of surprise. Jazz expelled air in a sigh. It wasn’t often the medic’s professional manner slipped, but when it did, he was liable to blow like a volcano with all the pent-up emotions.

Jazz went to him and laid a hand on his friend’s arm. “Ratch. I’m back. That’s all that matters now. Let everythin’ else go, ‘kay? Ya did great.” Ratchet shook his head, muttering, and Jazz patted him cajolingly. “Come on, doc. No long faces at my party tonight. We’re celebratin’.

“In fact, why don’t we go check on the high-grade and make sure we have enough? And hey, there’s no harm samplin’ ahead of time.”

The medic’s head came up at that. “Where the _frag_ did you get high-grade, Jazz?”

Jazz tsked. “Now ya know that’s my little secret, doc. Or don’t ya remember?”

Ratchet stared. “Of course, I remember, but how… where… Oh, never mind,” he grumbled. He waved a hand at the silver mech. “I’m convinced. It’s really you. You’re fine. I’m clearing you for full duty and you can recharge in your own quarters from now on.” The medic pulled him into a quick hug, then released him with a little push towards the door. “Glad you’re back. Now get out of here, and take Mikaela with you. Optimus is meeting me here in a few minutes.”

Jazz cleared his vocalizer. “Oh, yeah. About that, Ratch. I forgot ta tell ya.”

The medic's optics narrowed. “Tell me _what_ , Jazz?”

The saboteur shifted uncomfortably beneath the hostile gaze and held up both hands. “Hey, don’t shoot. I’m just the messenger here. Prime had ta schedule a conference call with the SecDef and the President. He’s not sure how long it’ll take, so he said not ta wait on him.”

There was dead silence for a moment, and then,

“I see.”

Jazz winced at the flat tone and the medic’s suddenly icy demeanor.

“Uhhh, right. I should go now. Come on, ‘Kaela.” Jazz scooped up the startled girl in one arm and beat a hasty retreat.

“Jazz, what is it? What’s wrong with Ratchet?” Mikaela asked as they hurriedly exited the medbay.

“Ya know that calm that comes b’fore a storm?”

“Yeah, so?”

“That was it.”

Jazz paused and cocked his head in a listening pose. The sound of something very large and very heavy hit the wall of the Medbay with a resounding crash, and Mikaela flinched and uttered a shriek.

“An’ there’s the storm.”

Jazz looked down at the wide-eyed little femme clutching his arm. “Ya won’t want ta go back in there for a while. Let’s go find Maggie and get lunch.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ratchet sat slumped at his desk, staring at the broken mess littering the floor, and wondering how it had happened. He’d spent a millennium fighting an endless war, watched thousands of mechs die, wandered over half the universe searching for the Allspark, and finally settled on this tiny ball of dirt off the beaten path in this galaxy’s back of beyond. And still… still… he ended up in exactly the same situation he’d been in for more vorns than he cared to remember, and a million light years from where he’d started out, not with Prime, but another mech, long ago…

**********

 **Flashback**

Ratchet sat at a table outside the energon dispensary, head propped in his hands, optics shuttered, too drained to even get his ration. Anger, pain, frustration at his own failure crackled through his processors, disrupting the normal, steady rhythm of his systems.

A calm voice intruded on the maelstrom of emotions. “Here, you look like you need this more than I do.”

He stared at the hand sliding a cube of energon in front of him.

“I’ve been told I’m a very good listener, if you feel like talking.”

Ratchet looked from the cube to the large mech taking the seat across from him at the small table. Tired optics narrowed at the stranger.

“Are you a medic?”

“No, I’m not. I’m an-“

Ratchet cut him off. “Then you wouldn’t understand.” He waited for the hasty departure in response to his rudeness, but the mech didn’t move to leave. Instead, he settled more comfortably into his seat and regarded the intern steadily.

“Try me,” the mech replied calmly, and the intern shot him a startled look, but said nothing.

“You know, I’ve seen a lot of young medics come to this dispensary over the last several vorns,” the mech said quietly, “and quite a few of them look just like you do now.” He paused to nod at the cube in front of the medic. “You should drink that. It’ll help.”

Ratchet barely bit back an irritated reply, settling instead for a rub of his optics and a long sigh. The mech acted a little odd, but he’d brought him a badly needed cube and seemed to mean well. He would just let him talk, nod politely while he drank down his ration and then make his escape.

“I’ve heard that faith is always hardest to come by for medics and scientists.”

Ratchet groaned to himself. Oh, blasted Pits. A fanatic. Now he’d be forced to listen to a rehearsed pitch about religion, get a bunch of holy datapads thrust into his hands, and be pestered mercilessly about coming to a meeting or gathering or some such nonsense. The intern rolled his optics and let out another weary sigh. The large mech raised an optic ridge in polite query.

“I take it you don’t believe in Primus?”

“No.” the intern replied shortly, watching the contents of his cube swirling slowly. “I’m far too busy trying to save lives. If I’d wanted to waste my time on ancient history and stories about some almighty being told to comfort frightened younglings and dying mechs, I would have become a priest or an archivist.”

He heard a muffled sound and looked up at the larger mech. The mech’s optics were half-shuttered with amusement, his mouthplates twitched.

Ratchet frowned. What in blazing Pits was _wrong_ with this mech anyway? He snapped out an irate, “What?” in a tone that usually sent lesser mechs ducking for cover.

This one however, merely sat there, mouthplates curving into a full smile, the muffled sound becoming a deep chuckle. Nice smile, was the intern’s brief thought, and then cringed mentally as the mech’s answer sank into his processors. “I work in that tower right over there. As an archivist.”

Ratchet dropped his optics, staring down into his cube in embarrassed silence, waiting for the large mech to demand an apology, to start yelling, to stand up and leave, anything but what happened next. The other mech reached out and touched his hand. Ratchet stared at it in astonishment.

“I’m Orion, by the way. Nice to meet you. And you are?”

He looked up into those amused optics again, his processors stalling for a long, confused moment. “Uhhh…”

Orion’s mouthplates quirked and he chuckled again. “That’s an unusual name.”

Ratchet shook his head, his processors struggling to keep up through the haze of weariness. “Ratchet,” he mumbled. “The name’s Ratchet and I’m an intern, not a full medic yet.” He reached for the cube before him and took a long swallow, sighing with relief at the surge of renewed energy through his systems.

“Ah, I see. Well, as I said before, I’ve seen a lot of young medics with the same look about them come through here. But you look like you’re taking it harder than most.”

Ratchet snorted faintly and took another swallow of energon. They’d just met and this mech thought he could read him like a datapad. Pits, but he was odd. “So tell me, Orion, since you seem to know all about me. Just what is it I’m taking so hard?”

Orion paused consideringly. Large, clear blue optics gazed into his, then moved up and down in a slow, thorough perusal. When the mech’s optics moved back to his, Ratchet felt himself flushing again. It was not a suggestive look, but he had definitely been weighed, measured, and something in him was lacking, or missing or-

“You lost.”

“I- What?”

“You lost a fight today. A big one. Maybe the biggest you’ve faced so far. And now you’re sitting here, tired and angry and blaming yourself for your personal inadequacies, when really, all that’s happened is that the mech you worked so hard over, the one you think you failed, the one you couldn’t save, has gone home to Primus.”

Anger flooded Ratchet’s systems. Optics paled, narrowing on the mech sitting calmly across from him.

“That is so fragging easy for you to say! You can’t know! You weren’t there! You didn’t see his face, the way he looked at me, so hopeful just before he offlined. They tell us to say it you know, that everything will be all right; they’ll be fine. Gives the patient something to hope for, they say, a reason to hang on. But Primus! I hated saying it! I hated it!”

Intakes heaved ragged breaths of air, his vocals thickened with static. “Because I knew, we all knew, there was no hope for this mech. His spark was flickering, guttering out, and I couldn’t stop it! Nothing I did could stop it! And then he was just… gone. And Pits, I see his face every time I close my optics. I’m afraid I’ll never stop seeing it. That scared, hopeful look. He was afraid to offline, he wanted to live. He thought I would save him, he trusted me. But I couldn’t save him! I couldn’t!”

Ratchet pressed his hands to burning optics, trying to stop the images crowding in. What the frag was he doing? If he hadn’t needed to recharge so badly, if every meter of his frame wasn’t aching from stress, if he hadn’t been so slagging tired from almost an entire cycle spent on his feet working frantically to save his patient, Ratchet would have gotten up and left.

Instead, he continued to sit, slumped into his chair with his head in his hands, hurting and doubting and wondering why in the universe he had just spilled his internals to a total stranger.

He heard the other mech get up to leave, and wished perversely that he would stay. Any company was better than being alone right now. Then a large hand clasped his shoulder in a comforting grip, and Orion spoke very softly next to his audial. “Primus, Ratchet. I’m sorry.”

And with those few words, Ratchet was undone. A small keen left his vocalizer before he managed to lock it down. Pain dug fiery trails into his processors, grief twisted his systems into knots. His frame shook as he bore the agony in silence. Through it all, Orion’s hand never left his shoulder. The larger mech remained, a solid, comforting presence next to him.

The pain finally began to ebb, and Ratchet gratefully patted the hand on his shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Orion gave an answering squeeze and reached around to pull his seat closer to Ratchet’s. He shook his head. “Why thank me? I’m the one that brought this on. I _am_ sorry, I didn't mean to sound complacent or unfeeling. If I had any idea just how hard you were taking this… Well, there are no words for what you’re going through.”

A processor was starting to ache, and Ratchet rubbed at it tiredly. “No, it wasn’t you. It’s me. My supervisor is constantly at me about not taking everything so hard. But slagging Pits, I don’t know that I can. He may as well tell me not to think or feel. Everything in me tells me to fight, and fight hard for my patients.”

“Then don’t listen to him,” Orion said simply. “It’s in your nature to be passionate. You can’t suppress it. But... do you have anyone to talk to about all this? You really should.”

Orion’s optics dimmed uncertainly but his gaze remained steadily fixed on the young intern. “I’m here most days, Ratchet, if you’d care to talk to me.”

Ratchet blinked. Primus. Most mechs would have been eager to leave after witnessing a display of his temper, but not this one.

“Why not,” he found himself saying, and Orion stood up to get his own ration cube, his smile gentle and pleased.

**********

Ratchet checked his chronometer and slumped a little further into his chair. No chance now that Optimus would come before it was time for Jazz’s party, and he was leaving right after to attend to some urgent situation somewhere, leaving the medic once again brushed aside. Everything and everyone else, it seemed, was still a higher priority to the Prime.

He rubbed absently at the nagging little ache in his chest. Maybe he was wrong. They had a new home, and the hope of a new start. There was time now, and maybe that was all Optimus needed. Time to realize that things were different. Ratchet got to his feet with a sigh and began cleaning up.

 _tbc_


	4. Chapter 3

  
**~Chapter 3~**   


Maggie stopped just outside of the RecRoom, a nervous hand smoothing the blonde hair twisted into an elegant French braid, then dropping down to finger the pearl choker at her throat. She was ready, she could do this. Just smile at everyone, stick with Mikaela and avoid Prime at all costs.

Maggie took a deep breath and stepped inside. The party was already in full swing, what looked like an entire army base of guys had shown up, and… she was vastly overdressed.

Maggie felt her brain hit the mental desk in her head with a dull _thunk_. Damn. Just- _Damn_. She was sure Jazz said it was a special occasion, but apparently she couldn’t even get _that_ right.

Honestly, if she could just get her feet under her for more than five minutes at a time, and at least _look_ like she was competent, that would be something. Starting a new job was nerve-wracking enough. Starting a new job with giant alien robots was like getting blind-sided constantly. She’d spent more time mentally picking herself up off of the floor this week, than actually working.

Her first week on her dream job and it had been a straight-up, total disaster from start to finish. And now this.

Maggie went over to one of the snack tables and poured some wine into a cup, glaring at it before taking a sip. Of course it was a plastic cup, a big, red plastic cup. Why the hell had she been thinking ‘cocktail party with real wine glasses and trays of elegant appetizers floating around the room’? She looked over the array of drinks and snacks on the table. Wine, beer, soda, pretzels, popcorn, an assortment of chips. Standard party fare. Figured. All that was missing was the-

A cheer went up, and Maggie turned to see a couple of army guys carrying in stacks of boxes. Right. Pizza was here. Game on.

Maggie gave up. She didn’t stand a chance fitting in with this crowd. She snagged one of the bowls of popcorn, and made a beeline for the couch to the side of the room where she could watch all the action and remain relatively unnoticed.

She finally spotted Mikaela in the crowd of camouflage, and was tempted to join her, but no, there was Sam, and they were arguing, or about to start arguing. No way, not going near that. She saw Bumblebee walk in, and head for them immediately. Maybe he could buffer things a bit. Mikaela looked like she was ready to hit something. Possibly Sam.

Ratchet was near the large outer doors, holding a deep fluorescent pink cube, talking to some of the men. Jazz was in the middle of the room, down on one knee, surrounded by a small crowd. He looked good. Really good, with the way his armor glowed under all the lights. Of all the mechs, the men seemed most comfortable with him, laughing and chatting easily. Some spoke earnestly, reaching out to shake the finger Jazz extended to them, others openly admired the gleaming armor and the large gun he displayed for them. One man daringly touched it and received a smirk. Jazz said something, and the man flushed bright red while his companions roared with laughter.

She noticed Mikaela had left Sam and joined Ratchet. Maggie fingered the pearls around her throat. Should she join her? Maybe she should join her. This was a party; she should really circulate and at least pretend like she was having a good time. She looked down at her little black dress again, the one that was supposed to go with any occasion, like mingling in a room full of guys in fatigues who hadn’t been let loose in god knew how long. Heh, right. No way.

She had yet to meet the Lennox family, but there was no sign of them or their guardian. What was his name again? Ironskin… Ironshell… Iron-… something. God, it would be so nice if she had even two brain cells to rub together and call her very own.

Maggie looked back at Sam. He wasn’t moving, just staring at the army guys around him with the most peculiar expression. Bumblebee was crouched next to him. He reached one large hand out to touch his shoulder, and Sam flinched and whirled around to face him. Bee’s hand dropped. His head reared back in surprise.

Maggie frowned. That was strange, definitely-

She jumped when Mikaela flopped onto the couch next to her.  
”Oh god, don’t _do_ that to me! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry. Thought you saw me coming.” Mikaela looked her up and down. “Wow, Maggie. Okay, I’m officially jealous and no longer your friend. And who’d you get all dressed up for anyway? The cute rangers over there?”

“No, Jazz said-”

“You did it for Jazz?”

“Well, Jazz told me it was a special occasion, so I just thought-”

“Aww, Maggie that’s so nice of you to dress up for his big Welcome Back party. Jazz notices those kinds of things, too. Trust me, he’ll love it.”

Oh and she could just _feel_ her brain pounce on all the implications in those statements. Like, why was Jazz getting welcomed back and why would he love what she was wearing and how could an alien robot ever appreciate clothing anyway since they didn’t wear clothes, but maybe the armor was clothing, it did come in different colors, but if it wasn’t clothing then technically they were all walking around nak-.

Maggie smacked her brain, telling it to shut the hell up. Really, it deserved it. If her brain had paid more attention to her work this week instead of who she was working _with_ , all would have been well. Great. Fantastic even. Instead, she looked like an idiot. She failed. Life sucked.

Maggie took another sip of wine, wondering morosely if there was any possible way to redeem herself.

Mikaela reached a hand towards Maggie’s bowl of popcorn.

“Share?”

“What? Oh, sure, help yourself.”

“Thanks.” Mikaela scooped up a handful. “Glad you finally got here. I don’t know how much more testosterone I can take with all these army guys, plus Sam’s doing his best to stomp on my last nerve.”

“Yeah, I saw that. You did seem a little tense,” Maggie said.

Mikaela gave an inelegant snort. “Tense? I was ready to throw my soda at his head.” She popped a few kernels in her mouth and chewed, staring moodily across the room to where Bumblebee was standing now, gazing down at Sam who was looking at the floor.

“We really need to girl-talk later, Maggie. I’m about at my wits end with Sam. I don’t know what’s going on with him. All I do know is we fight all the time, about everything, and I don’t even know how the arguments get started.”

“Sure, but no MedBay talk.”

“Okay. No signals talk either.”

“Deal.”

A minor commotion near the door drew everyone’s attention, and then the crowd near the door swirled and parted and Optimus Prime entered, striding slowly and majestically across the room. Slowly, to allow the crowd of much smaller humans time to move out of his way. Majestically, because the imposing mech easily dwarfed everyone and everything around him. The very act of having to look up at a being so tall, the enormous size and sheer power of him, inspired feelings of awed respect. Even the cavernous RecRoom seemed smaller with his presence.

Mikaela poked Maggie with an elbow to her ribs. “Awesome, isn’t he? I can’t wait until Ratchet lets me work on him.”

‘Awesome’ was not the word Maggie would have used, so she made a noncommittal noise instead, watching as the huge mech straightened from greeting a dozen or more men who had come forward to meet him. Prime’s gaze swept the room. Maggie tensed when it landed on her and stopped. Prime’s intense blue optics pinned her and another little noise came out, this one with a distinctly panicked edge to it. Prime had taken two long strides towards her when his much smaller Second stepped into his path.

She watched Prime stop and say something to Jazz, and Jazz reply in turn. Then they both looked at her. Maggie commenced looking longingly towards the doors. If she ran really, really fast-

Mikaela poked her again. “Nice try, but I knew he’d spot you hiding over here.

“I wasn’t hiding.”

“Sure you were.”

“No I wasn’t.

“Yes you were.”

“Are they still looking?”

“Yup.”

“Damn.”

*******************

“Come on, Optimus, this is a party. You’ll get her eventually, but now’s not the time ta be arrangin’ that. Here. Enjoy.”

Prime accepted the cube of high-grade with a nod of thanks. “I had no intention of bringing that up with her, Jazz.”

“Uh-huh, sure ya didn’t. I saw the gleam in your optic. Your last chance ta practice on the latest of the fresh recruits. I think the others have finally stopped groanin’, by the way.”

Laughter rumbled through the Prime’s massive chest. “Really. And I even shortened the duration of our time together, too, just for their comfort. But as far as our newest recruit is concerned, I only wanted to ask how she was settling in. However…”

The Prime paused, his optics resting on the young femme with mild amusement. Maggie seemed to be trying to disappear into the furniture.

“…Miss Madsen does not appear to be in the mood to welcome any advances from me tonight, Jazz. Perhaps you could speak with her and arrange a time.”

“I’ll do that. Oh, and a word ta the wise, Prime. Ratchet’s gonna clobber ya, if ya don’t get your head outta your office once in a while.”

The amusement vanished. A frown gathered the optic ridges. The towering mech looked over to where the medic was talking with Captain William Lennox.

********************

“You can’t put it off forever, Maggie. You’re the last.”

Oh no, not the last. That meant she would be the only one. Just her. Alone. With the Prime. Maggie could feel a whimper threatening to break free, looking at the enormous mech again. Even from clear across the large room, she had to look way, way up to see his face.

Mikaela watched Maggie sink lower in her seat. “Maggie, Prime knows how big he is, and how overwhelming he can be to us. He’ll make it as comfortable as possible for you. He’s very gentle, really, once you get used to him.”

Maggie plucked nervously at her strand of pearls and took another sip of wine. “How long did it take you?”

“Oh, not that long. After I rode on his hand—twice—then rode on his shoulder, then fell _off_ his shoulder, then bounced off his foot, it was like we were good friends. All that’s left now is for me to introduce myself to his insides, and that will probably make us best friends forever.”

Maggie sputtered on her wine. “Do you have any idea how strange that sounds?”

Mikaela gave her a droll look. “Like any of this is normal? And hey, you’re already one up on me. At least the Autobots know your name. No one even bothered to ask mine until we were all heading for debriefing. They just kept calling me ‘the femme’ or ‘the female.’ I found out that was short for, ‘the-female-Sam-wants-to-mate-with.’”

Okay. How did alien robots know Sam wanted to-- Never mind. Don’t even go there. Was it time for more wine? Yeah. More wine. Definitely.

Maggie sighed. “Well, that’s still better than ‘Oh-you’re-Maggie-the-female-who-screamed-and-ran-away-from-Prime.’ God, that was just so incredibly embarrassing.”

“You didn’t scream _that_ loud.”

“Yes I did. I can’t even look him in the eye now.”

“Optics.”

“Right, those.”

*********************

Prime looked back at his Second with a lingering frown.

“You did tell Ratchet why I was delayed.”

“I did.

“And?”

“And he was really lookin’ forward ta seein’ ya,” Jazz said.

“I see.” Prime paused and looked towards Ratchet again.

“I’d better go apologize.”

“Right. And I’ll just go say ‘hi’ ta the girls hidin’ away over there.”

“Certainly. But before you go, Jazz, I should warn you that the C.O. will be giving a speech shortly, and then wishes to give you an award on behalf of the President for your bravery and sacrifice in defense of their country.”

Jazz stilled, his smile fading. “Sort of pointless, isn’t it? Now that I’m back from the dead an’ all.”

“This award seems to mean a great deal to them.”

“The party was enough, Optimus. Ya know I didn’t want any big fuss.”

“It was the humans’ idea, Jazz,” Prime said. “Cooperating with them will cost nothing and gain us good will in the process. It’s a small enough thing, compared to some of what they’re asking of us.”

Jazz’s visor swirled with color and shaded into black. Prime clicked concern.

“Is something wrong?”

The visor shimmered to silver. Jazz shrugged.

“Naw, I’m fine. And I take it your conference call didn’t go well.”

“Not very, no. The results were inconclusive, and our status here remains undefined.”

“Too bad. Would’ve been good to get that nailed down.”

“Agreed. If we cannot, we may need to consider alternatives.”

“Understood. Okay, go apologize, and then relax a little, Prime. This is a party, after all.”

Prime glanced towards Ratchet once again. “Hmm. Relax. I’ll try to remember how to do that.”

**********************

“Huh. Looks like Jazz ran interference for you, Maggie.”

Maggie’s sigh of relief was audible. Mikaela snickered.

Jazz joined them, squatting down in front of the couch with his hands draped casually over his knee joints.

“You two havin’ fun?” he asked. “And wow, Maggie.” His gaze on her lingered, moving down, then up again in a slow once over. “Ya look gorgeous tonight.”

 _Did he just do what I think he did? No. No, of course he didn’t._

Uhhh, said her brain. Maggie kicked it into gear.

“Oh. Thank you, Jazz. You look… very nice.”

“Aww, I was hopin’ for ‘handsome,’” Jazz replied with a grin, “but I’ll take ‘very nice’.”

Maggie’s brain gave a small _meep_. She looked down at her bowl of popcorn, completely flustered, while Mikaela laughed outright. “Well, _I’ll_ say it. You look very handsome tonight, Jazz. And just how long did you spend polishing all that armor, anyway?”

“Not that long. ‘Bee helped me buff up.”

“He did a great job. Shiny, Jazz, very shiny. Oh, and Maggie told me she got all dressed up just for you, didn’t you, Maggie? She wanted to look nice for your party.”

Maggie’s head jerked up; she stared open-mouthed. “What? Mikaela I-“

Jazz whistled softly. “Ya did? Wow, again. Thanks, Maggie. I’m flattered.”

Mikaela beamed. “See? I told you he’d like that you got all dressed up.” Jazz rumbled a pleased agreement, and just as the heat started climbing up into Maggie’s cheeks, he reached out and gave her popcorn bowl a playful tap.

“Hey. I know you’re still gettin’ used ta bein’ here, and you’re nervous and all, but ya did good this week.”

Jazz watched Maggie’s mouth open and close a couple of times. Interesting reaction, but she didn’t seem to be reassured. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned the part about being nervous.

“I- I- I did?” she finally squeaked out. “Really? Because I know I haven’t been paying enough attention and I’m sorry I’ve been so distracted and I’m usually much better at-“

“Maggie,” Jazz said, “ya did good. Really.” Half his visor dimmed down and lit up again in a wink.

A shy smile curved Maggie’s lips. “Thanks, Jazz. You just made my week.”

His head tipped slightly, his smile deepened. “You’re welcome, Maggie. Anytime.”

Mikaela’s hand tapped Maggie’s in the popcorn bowl.

“Hey, Ironhide and Sarah just got here. We should go say hi.”

“Wait a minute.” Jazz stood up, turning towards Ironhide. The black mech snapped a glare in his direction but made no other acknowledgement.

Jazz gestured to the girls to stay put. “Hold that thought; he’s not real happy right now. Lemme go make sure his cannons are locked down. I’ll catch up with ya later.”

Silver armor flashed and gleamed as he moved away, and Maggie watched him a moment, wondering how he planned on managing an angry mech twice his size.

She eyed the enormous black mech nervously. He was definitely a bit too close for her comfort. He looked bigger than Prime right now. Jazz joined him, but Ironhide never ever glanced away from the pale, blonde woman standing quietly next to him, holding a baby.

“So that’s Sarah?” Maggie asked.

“Uh-huh. She doesn’t seem very happy either. I really need to nag Ratchet into telling me- Oh, there’s Will.”

The tall, handsome, dark-haired man greeted Ironhide, then took the baby from Sarah. Will turned away with his daughter in his arms, flashing a proud smile to the soldiers nearest him. An attractive, muscular black man reached for Annabelle and cuddled her close, cooing at her and tickling her stomach.

Sarah was left alone. Her look of shock turned to hurt, and she reached up to place a hand on Ironhide’s leg, still staring after her husband.

“Oh hell,” Mikaela said. “I cannot _believe_ he just did that to her.”

Maggie heard a low rumble of sound, and Sarah looked up at Ironhide. Then she shook her head and went out the same door she had just walked through not five minutes earlier.

Jazz put a hand on Ironhide’s arm but was brushed aside. Maggie startled as a sound like thunder rolled through the room.

“ _Shit_!” Mikaela breathed next to her, and all eyes turned towards the black behemoth glowering down at Will. The man flinched and froze, and the entire room stilled. Time hung suspended, the moment stretching out longer and longer, balanced precariously on a razor’s edge, threatening at any instant to topple over and explode into violence.

Large metallic hands fisted. Ironhide was bristling up, menace in every line of his frame. Maggie’s mind was screaming warnings to _Run! Run!_ , tension shrilled along every last one of her nerves, and then Ironhide’s huge armored head suddenly snapped up and swiveled towards the Prime, along with the other Autobots’ in the room.

Prime never moved or even uttered a sound that Maggie could hear, but after a moment, Ironhide turned abruptly with a clash of heavy plates and stomped out the door after Sarah.

Maggie grabbed her glass of wine and tried to remember how to breathe.

“Oh hell,” Mikaela said. “Ironhide _growled_ at Will. That is so not good. Will should know better than to piss off ‘Hide like that.”

Maggie almost choked on her wine.

“Pissed off? That was him being _pissed off_? I thought Ironhide was going to kill him!”

“Huh? No, of course ‘Hide wouldn’t kill him, he’s their guardian. But still, Ironhide’s not exactly what you’d call patient, and he's got enough firepower to take out a platoon of tanks. _I_ sure wouldn't want to make him mad.”

Maggie heartily agreed.

The two girls watched the crowd of soldiers stirring restlessly, some casting uneasy glances towards Will Lennox, others towards the large open double doors where Ironhide could be seen standing outside with Sarah. From the low buzz of hushed voices, mutters of ‘guardian’ and ‘threatened’ and ‘not good’ and ‘wrong’ could be heard.

Prime’s deep baritone drew everyone’s attention.

“At this time, I would ask that Lieutenant Colonel Wolf please come forward to make his presentation.”

An air of relief rippled through the room; a distraction from the disturbing scene they had witnessed was more than welcome. The C.O. stepped forward to a smattering of applause and whistles, glaring briefly towards some of the rowdier soldiers, who grinned and subsided into respectful silence.

 _“Good evening. It is my great pleasure to be here tonight, both as a representative of the United States Army, and on behalf of the President of our country. Many of us here were present at the events that occurred just a few months ago…”_

*********************

Ironhide followed Sarah out from the Base.

He knelt beside her, his scanners measuring her increased heart rate and rapid ventilations, analyzing the moisture on her face. She was in pain.

Sarah’s frame shook, and Ironhide reached out cautiously, ready to carefully soothe the small, trembling femme when she turned to him for comfort.

He waited.

Sarah didn’t turn.

Ironhide withdrew his hand with a puzzled frown. Her behavior was perplexing. She did not seem to understand his role as her guardian.

He briefly considered searching the internet for the protocols of this world, then dismissed the thought. The internet contained so much contradictory information, he had long ago given up making sense of it. Best to let mechs who were built for the task deal with that mess. A conversation with Jazz might be useful, but for now, he had no clear idea how to approach her.

His guardian protocols protested his inaction, urging him to comfort her.

Ironhide silenced them. He knew what he should do, just not how to do it. This world, these humans, were so different.

Some things though, cut across all worlds and species.

Ironhide continued to watch over Sarah, wishing he could ease her pain.

********************

 _“…The Presidential Medal of Freedom has its roots in the Medal of Freedom established by President Harry S. Truman in 1945 to honor civilian service during World War II…”_

Prime shifted slightly as Ratchet moved up beside him.

 **:I will have to speak with Ironhide. He’s become very protective of Sarah, I’m afraid, to the point of losing perspective. He should not be taking sides in this:**

 **:** Agreed, but that was a risk when you assigned him. You knew that. His guardian protocols will focus on the weaker members of any group **:**

 **:True, but I had not envisioned the potential dissolution of this group, a basic unit of their society. It is disturbing:**

 **:** It is, and equally disturbing to Ironhide. His systems are displaying signs of stress **:**

 **:Serious enough to reassign him?:**

 **:** Not yet. Nothing I can’t handle for the time being **:**

 **:Then I will allow Ironhide to continue as guardian. If, as Jazz predicts, the pair does dissolve their bond, then the femme and her offspring will need him:**

 _“…Since 1963, this medal has been bestowed in recognition of individuals who have made an especially meritorious contribution to the security or national interests of the United States, world peace, cultural or other significant public or private endeavors...”_

 **:And Jazz? His progress continues to be satisfactory?:**

 **:** Well enough that I’ve cleared him for full duty **:**

 **:Good:**

Prime’s head turned slightly. Deep blue optics slanted down to the smaller mech beside him.

 **:I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you as planned, Ratchet. There were urgent matters requiring my attention:**

The barest flicker of optics acknowledged him.

 **:** Jazz told me. Any progress? **:**

 **:Not enough. The humans need more time to adjust to our presence. We will have to be patient with them:**

 _“… outstanding courage, sacrificing his own safety in order to ensure the safety of others…”_

 **:** And if they never adjust? We leave then? **:**

 **:No. We find another way to help them. I owe them that, and more, for bringing our war to their world:**

 **:** Not everything is your fault, Optimus **:**

 **:This is. I, and I alone, am responsible for sending the Allspark out from Cybertron. It landed here, on this planet, and brought our war with it:**

 **:** But now that Megatron is dead, and the Allspark destroyed, our war is over **:**

 _“… Our nation, our world, rests easier, safe in the knowledge that we have strong, new allies…”_

 **:No. Starscream will summon the Decepticon forces, just as I have summoned ours. We have too much to do before they return, and not enough time to do it. Earth is our home now, and its people, my responsibility. I cannot abandon them to the Decepticons who would murder and enslave them, and strip away every resource this world has to offer. I wish this war were over, but I’m afraid it is not:**

A complex tone was Ratchet’s reply, a layered burst of harmonics encompassing frustrated longing, hungry desire, the need for so much more than what they had in the past, what they had now.

Prime’s concurring tone spoke volumes. His hand lifted, about to caress the pale face turned up to his. He paused, and Ratchet’s optics widened. It was rare for the Prime to forget himself. His hand dropped slowly, settling for the briefest of touches on Ratchet’s shoulder armor, then withdrew. A small hint of regret lingered in his optics, and then that too, was gone.

The barest sigh of air slipped through Ratchet’s vents.

 _“…and on behalf of the President of the United States, and a grateful nation, I am proud to present to you, the Presidential Medal of Freedom.”_

Jazz stepped forward to receive the award. Cheers and applause erupted from the watching crowd.

 **:** I’d better run a systems check on Ironhide before he leaves **:**

Prime pinged acknowledgment and Ratchet turned and left. Prime’s optics followed him as he slowly moved away.

***************************

The party was finally over. The last of the celebrants were waved off into the night or tucked up in their quarters, asleep or recharging. The Base was quiet.

Jazz sat on the edge of his berth, visor flickering through shades of purple and red. Moody, discontent, disturbed, restless, unhappy -- none of these were words he normally associated with himself.

He unsubspaced his award and opened the case. The humans, the soldiers, the ones he protected, so happy to see him, so proud to give him their highest honor.

 _“You’re okay. It’s really you. Welcome back!”_

His finger touched the medal nestled into its bed of white silk. Cold, inert, lifeless.

“What’s wrong, Jazz?” he asked himself softly.

He closed the case and laid it on his desk.

 _“I’m convinced. You’re fine. Glad you’re back.”_

 _“Welcome back, Jazz. You were missed, deeply,” said Prime._

Jazz exited the base and transformed, rolling out quietly until he passed the perimeter fence.

Engine revving, radio blasting, the silver Solstice leaped out into the night.

++++++

Bullets ricocheted around him. Shouts and screams, agonized wails, the groans of the dying. Not his people, the others. The fascinating, exciting, wondrous organics--humans--that populated this planet.

 _ **:** Ironhide! Where’s Prime?! **:**_

 _ **:** He’s on his way! **:**_

An echoing crash and boom as the monster landed in the street ahead of them.

 _“It’s Megatron! Retreat! Fall back!”_

Hushed voices behind him as he left the girls and headed for his quarters.

“Mikaela, what did Jazz do to get that medal?”

“He died, Maggie.”

“He died? Jazz- died?”

The gas pedal pressed down. The engine roared. The speedometer climbed past 100.

++++++

A monstrous silver foot stepped carelessly on an organic that fell in its path, crushing the human instantly. Enraged, he leaped recklessly into the path of the monster, shielding a group of fleeing humans, firing shot after shot, watching them bounce uselessly off of plating too thick for his weapon to breach.

 _ **:** Jazz! Fall back! That’s an order! **:**_

 _ **:** Jazz! **:**_

The monster turned towards him, leveling its own huge gun at him. Proximity alarms screamed. Tactical readouts spat decreasing odds until they zeroed out. No chance. He had no chance. He continued firing, giving the humans behind him time to escape.

“Where? How?”

“Mission City. Jazz was protecting us. He tried to slow Megatron down. Megatron killed him.”

 _ **:** Jazz, where are you?! **:**_

Errors crowded his displays. Plates separating, metal rending, frame ripping. Pain.

 **Structure, compromised. Initiating regenerative systems.**

Screaming.

 **Regenerative systems, offline.**

Searing pain.

 _ **:** Jazz! Respond! **:**_

 **Main systems, failing.**

Coolant lines burst, spraying wildly. Wires shredded and ripped. Sparks shot into the air. His tanks purged.

 **Initiating emergency stasis. Emergency stasis, inoperative.**

 **  
_:_   
**   
_Jazz!! **:**_

Energon poured from his mouth, choking his screams.

 **Catastrophic failure in 10, 9, 8…**

painpainpainpain

 **5, 4, 3, 2…**

painpainpainpa--

The gas pedal slammed down to the floorboard. The engine screamed. The speedometer shot past 200.

++++++

No clouds to cover the stars. Rain was rare in this region. The desert breeze stirred around him.

He sat silently, intakes drawing in the night air, listening to the skittering of small things that crawled and hopped and scurried through the brush and dry, packed earth, leaving tiny flashes of red on his heat sensors.

His AI pinged for his attention, feeding information into his displays. Diplomat to strange new worlds, alien specialist, cultural liaison, bridge-builder extraordinaire. His second duty called.

Jazz glanced over the specs listlessly.

“Is there more?” he asked.

The AI pinged negative. This was the recommended procedure for organic sentient species.

Jazz gazed out over the nighttime desert, that same disturbed, restless feeling stirring inside again. Something was wrong, something was missing.

 _“You’re fine, Jazz. You’re cleared for full duty.”_

He looked back down the long stretch of his lifecycle and saw fighting and chaos and death and destruction. Probability equations predicted more of the same for his future.

His homeworld was dark and dead, but the energies of this planet sang to him. Deep under the crust, the lifeblood of the planet churned hot. His home now, his world. Life in a million different forms swarmed around him.

“No,” he told his AI. “I want to try something different.”


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter notes:   
****** = breaks within scene  
-o-o- = denotes separate entries in the same month for Sarah’s Journal

 

**~Chapter 4~**

**Two Weeks After Maggie’s Arrival**

It was perhaps, no great surprise that Maggie started dreaming about giant alien robots, in particular a large silver one named Jazz. And in her dreams Jazz regularly rescued her from another, even bigger giant alien robot who kept trying to grab her. Jazz grabbed her instead, and then he did this weird thing where he transformed into a bright, shiny silver Rubik’s cube and invited her to play with him.

Maggie was convinced there was something in the air or the water, or that her brain was simply on crack. It got worse when she caught herself looking at the seams in Jazz’s armor, wondering if maybe he really could turn into a Rubik’s cube and then she could-

Maggie’s chair clattered noisily as she pushed back from the computer and turned away. “I think I need a break.”

Jazz looked over at her. “Ya know, ya just took one half an hour ago. Somethin’ wrong?”

“I did? Oh. Sorry.” Maggie closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead tiredly. “I didn’t sleep too well last night.” _Because I can’t stop dreaming about giant robots and silver armor and shiny Rubik’s cubes._

She heard a soft whirring sound and opened her eyes to an up close and personal view of the red insignia on Jazz’s chestplates as he leaned over her to peer at her computer screen. A few taps on her keyboard, and he was back in his own chair before she even had time to react. Her brain managed a tired, _whaaa?_ and that was about it.

“There. The system’s on autopilot now. It’ll flag whatever needs lookin’ at and we’ll deal with it later. Now, about that break.” Metalloid fingers tapped rhythmically for a moment, and then fifteen feet of gleaming armor rose up in front of her. Maggie’s eyes traveled up over the expanse of metallic silver to see Jazz looking down at her, his visor flickering through shades of blue. “How about you and me get out of here for a while.”

 _Best. Boss. **Ever**_ , Maggie thought, getting up to follow him. Jazz moved with a fluid, easy grace, adjusting his strides so she could keep up. The softer lights of the hallway gave his armor a burnished glow.

 _Oooo, shiny!_ her wayward brain purred.

Maggie sighed. _You are going to get me fired. Again. So shut it._

\---------------------------

Sunlight filtered through the sheers on each side of the window in the living room. Annabelle was hard at work, crawling around, banging toys together, practicing pull-ups on the couch. Sarah sat at the corner desk, her laptop open, scrolling through the pages of her journal. She paused several times to read the entries.

 **NOVEMBER**

It’s always been a challenge for Will and I to reconnect after he’s returned, to get past all the fantasy and unrealistic expectations that tend to build up while we’re apart, and try to have a normal life until the next deployment takes him away again.

When Will called me, it was the first time in 2 weeks I even knew he was alive. I spent the rest of that day in a daze.

He came home in a large black Topkick truck. He took Annabelle from my arms, lifting her into the air, and then holding her close. This was what we had talked about during our time apart, every hope and high expectation pinned to this single moment, Will finally holding his daughter for the first time.

 _We sure made one good-looking kid, didn’t we?_

I blinked back tears, watching them together.

Why do I feel so left out?

I walked over to the truck. It was huge, dusty from the long drive. The windows were tinted so dark I couldn’t see inside. Whoever drove Will home didn’t seem in a hurry to get out. Dents and scrapes marred the black finish here and there. I ran my fingers across one of the largest dents. My mind was playing tricks on me because it seemed for a moment as though the truck vibrated.

Annabelle started to fuss and cry, and Will called me over. Anna doesn’t know him, he doesn’t know what to do with her. I hurried back to take her. The truck behind me started up with a low roar, and I turned around to see it pulling away, heading back down the road from wherever it came. The Base, I guess, though it didn’t have military tags.

Our plans for a welcome home dinner went right out the window. Will changed, unpacked his duffel, then crashed for 16 hours straight.

This always happens. You’d think we’d have learned by now not to plan too much or do too much the first day home. But it’s so easy to get carried away like that.

I ate alone in the small kitchen with Anna in her high chair next to me, while Will slept.

 **DECEMBER**

We haven’t settled out yet. Will’s tired from training all day with his team. The long drive between home and the Base wears on him. He’s under a lot of pressure all day, and when he comes home, he just wants to relax and zone out, play with Anna until she gets fussy, and then she’s all mine. But I’m tired too, and I’d like more help with Anna when he comes home at night, and a chance for some adult conversation. Will doesn’t see it that way.

One of the many things we haven’t ironed out between us, and the Army in its wisdom decided to jump-start his team’s training for their next mission. We should have had a solid month of Will being home and being a husband again. Will needs time to get to know Annabelle and get used to being a dad, the fun part along with the crying and dirty diapers and vomiting and walking the floor at night because Anna can’t sleep for whatever reason. Everything that goes with being a parent, and even then, I don’t know if a month is enough time.

Will barely got three weeks.

It’s just Annabelle and me again, for most of each day. Will comes home late, maybe he’s already eaten. I watch him play with Anna or read her a story. I do the last diaper change of the day and he tucks her in. We sit and watch TV, then we go to bed. Will has to be up early. He leaves before I’m awake.

I think we talked more while he was in Qatar.

 **JANUARY**

Being a Ranger, Will always has secrets he has to keep, and the last mission was rough. He lost men, good men under his command. I know it bothers him, but Will’s always kept the difficult things to himself. It bothers me that he won’t share them with me. Something’s weighing on him, and I can’t help but feel that something more happened, something different. And whatever it is, it’s not over yet.

Will’s been working longer hours and I’m ashamed to say it’s a bit of a relief, but the tension between us is hard to live with. We’ve added Annabelle and God love her, but she’s changed the balance completely, what we do and how we act and the time we have together. Our focus is on her, not on us, and I’m starting to worry that we might not get it right, things might not work out, before Will has to leave again.

 **-o-o-**

The big black Topkick showed up again, along with three other vehicles. Bright yellow Camaro, day-glo green rescue vehicle, and the biggest truck I’ve ever seen, blue with red flames painted along the sides. I was surprised there weren’t naked lady mud flaps to go along with the garish paint job. Together, they looked like the weirdest auto collection in the world.

“Our yard isn’t a parking lot,” I said to Will. He frowned and went out to greet whoever was in charge.

No one got out. Will stood out there and seemed to be talking to the grille on the big truck.

Which was plainly crazy, so I had to go out and see for myself.

I walked over to the big truck, and Will took Annabelle from my arms with a quiet, “Brace yourself.”

I stood there with my mouth open while the vehicles all just… _fell apart_. Like watching an explosion in slow motion, parts were flying, moving, shifting, and then they all… _reassembled_ themselves somehow, into these enormous metal creatures with arms and legs and heads and strange eyes all staring down at me.

I almost fell down. I swore before I could clap my hand over my mouth. At least I threw in a ‘holy’ along with the ‘shit.’ Maybe they’ll cancel each other out.

The tall one looked a little amused, at least I think that was a smile. The one that used to be the Topkick uttered what sounded like a loud blow of air and stared down at me with strange, ice-blue eyes.

The day-glo creature spoke up. “The differences between the femme and her offspring are interesting.”

The tall one moved slowly, bending down into a strangely graceful crouch. They didn’t look like they could do that. A tremendously deep voice spoke above my head. “I am Optimus Prime. We are autonomous robotic organisms from the planet Cybertron.” I heard gears turning, and whirring noises. His huge head turned, cobalt blue eyes fastened on Will. “Captain Lennox, Ironhide has agreed to remain here as guardian. Is this acceptable?”

Will nodded agreement, and I almost swore again. This was insane, this couldn’t be happening.

I watched the big black one standing out in front of the house, watching the others leave. He was staying. Here. With us.

 _Why_? And I must have said that out loud.

Those massive plates shifted, the large head turned, and it, the creature— _Ironhide_?--- stared down at me with those cold blue eyes and told me he needed to be here for our protection. A chill went through me, because if it took something like him to protect us, I didn’t even want to know what might be coming after us.

Will went into the house to get ready for work, taking Annabelle with him.

 _This isn’t real_ , my mind kept insisting.

I stared up at the gigantic black one they called Ironhide. He stared down at me. Cold, inhuman, alien eyes. I looked away first, unnerved.

I don’t know that my life will ever be normal again.

 **FEBRUARY**

We had another fight last night. It’s happening more often. Will’s tense, I’m tense, Anna picks up on it and fusses a lot. The counseling sessions haven’t helped much. We snap over little things, we don’t seem to have a lot to say to each other. We’re both frustrated and tired and angry. This hurts too, and I know it’s hurting Will. All those high expectations, all the hopes while Will was gone, seem like they belonged to someone else, and I guess it’s good to have them gone, they weren’t real, but now what?

Will got the notice today. He’ll deploy in May. We have a little over 2 months of our married life together left, before he leaves again. Marriage is hard when you lose your husband for 3 months at a time. Gone for 3 months, home for 7, just barely enough time to resettle into a stable marriage maybe, if you’re lucky, and this time I’m wondering if our luck isn’t running out. Those high military divorce rates are starting to haunt me.

Ironhide sits outside our house, looking like a gigantic hulking pile of metal when he’s not in his truck form. His presence changes things, too.

Everything has changed, and I don’t know what to do.

 **-o-o-**

Ironhide has been here now for three weeks.

He ignored me at first, until I got in his way. That was today. I was scared to death, but he was reaching for Annabelle, for _my_ daughter. Ironhide made some weird clicking sound and pushed me aside and reached for her again. I don’t know what he wanted, but he wasn’t getting her. I grabbed his finger and tried to shove it away. Like trying to move a mountain of metal, and of course it never budged, but Ironhide stopped and looked at me.

Icy blue eyes— _optics_ , they call them---stared down at me. I was a quaking mess but I wouldn’t back down. I matched him stare for stare. His finger moved again, as if to test me, and I gave it another firm push.

Ironhide’s hand stopped moving. He continued to stare at me. He could stare for all eternity if he had too, I was sure. Those cold, unnerving optics of his bored holes into me, and if this was a contest of wills I had no chance of winning. I started to shake and looked down, too frightened to push things any further, but at least his hand was not close to Annabelle.

Another sound, so low I almost couldn’t hear it, the air felt like it throbbed around me, and then I heard his deep, rumbling voice.

“Sarah,” he said, “I’m here to protect. I won’t hurt you, or your offspring.”

It was the first time he said my name. I didn’t think he knew it.

I nodded shakily. “Alright,” I said, “alright.” Then I backed away and snatched Annabelle up, heading into the house as gracefully as I could manage. I was sure Ironhide knew it for the retreat that it was, but that didn’t stop me from doing it, and he made no move to keep me there.

It only dawned on me once I was safely indoors, that the giant metal finger I touched was _warm_.

***********

Sarah’s cellphone rang with a peculiar three-tone harmony, just as a shadow fell across the window. Ironhide’s call signal, and she looked over to see him looking in at her.

“Are you ready?” he asked, voice rumbling through the cellphone speaker.

“Ten more minutes?” Sarah watched him glance towards her laptop and nod once before moving away.

She scrolled down to the last entry of her journal and began typing a new one.

 **MARCH**

It’s done, it’s out there, everyone knows now just how bad things are between us. It’s not like it was a big secret, but I wish that it hadn’t happened so publicly.

Will called to apologize after the party. He spent the rest of the weekend on Base. Maneuvers out in the field. We talked about Annabelle and then he had to go. Anna’s the one thing we can agree on completely.

I don’t even think Will did it on purpose. He’s stressed and under pressure, his deployment date’s been moved up again. His head is in the mission prep and everything else is secondary.

Things are so strained between us. I’m tired but I don’t sleep well. I’m forcing myself to eat. I hate this, the situation, everything. Hate it. Maybe it’s best that Will’s leaving early, maybe we’re both too close to this. I want everything to be normal, and it’s not going to happen. Some distance might help. It might start us talking again.

Ironhide stays around the house most of the time, and every few hours he runs a patrol around our property. He’s gruff and blunt, when he bothers to speak at all, but then I haven’t spoken to him much either. I don’t know what he does all day while he’s sitting there.

He seems to take more of an interest in me lately, he watches me whenever I’m outside. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. He still makes me a little nervous. Okay, a _lot_ nervous. God, he’s just so big! But I’m alone most of the time too. Maybe I should go out and talk to him.

Is that stupid? That’s probably stupid. I have no idea what I would say to him.

************

Sarah sat and stared at the entry. The words on the screen wavered and blurred. A long shuddering sigh shook her, followed by another, and another, then she put her hand to her mouth and choked back a sob. She couldn’t do this, not now.

She wiped at the tears running down her cheeks and looked at her watch. Past time to go, and she didn’t like to keep Ironhide waiting. She shut down her laptop, and collected the diaper bag, a few snacks, some toys and an excited Annabelle, who squealed when Sarah said ‘truck’ and ‘ride.’

The large Topkick sank down low on its shocks at their approach, the frame nearly touching the ground. Sarah murmured her thanks for Ironhide’s assistance when they were settled in, just as she always did. Ironhide rumbled a short acknowledgement, just as he always did. The long, silent trip to the Base was broken only by the sounds of Annabelle babbling her enjoyment.

\------------------------

Maggie followed Jazz through the large double doors at the back of the Base. She watched as the sun glinted off the many planes and angles of Jazz’s armor, awestruck as always by the dizzying speed, lithe twists and graceful spins that marked his amazing transformation from giant Autobot into his absolutely gorgeous alt-mode of Pontiac Solstice.

Most definitely, utterly gorgeous, but that Maggie could handle, because Jazz-as-a-car was a whole lot less distracting than Jazz in his robot form.

The passenger door swung open, inviting her in, and Maggie sank gratefully into a seat that felt more like memory foam than leather. She slipped her high heels off and curled her toes into carpeting that was thick and plush, and rested her head back with an appreciative sigh.

“Where are we going?”

“Nowhere in particular.” Jazz’s smooth, deep voice filled the small cockpit, surround sound at its finest. “I just thought I’d drive around and let ya relax and we can talk for a bit.”

A seatbelt snaked its way around Maggie just as they passed through the gate. Jazz picked up speed, the purring engine revving into a muted roar.

The sound of power, Maggie thought, listening to the turbocharged engine’s deep tones. She grinned to herself. Mikaela finally got to work on Jazz three days ago. She was still having cargasms over it.

The Base fell away behind them, and Maggie felt the tension start to drain away. A comfortable silence filled the cockpit.

She wiggled a little in her seat. Sheer bliss. Did they make beds out of whatever this was?

The tone of Jazz’s engine changed and deepened, hit an almost growling note, before resuming its normal pitch.

“So,” Jazz said, and oh her ear for sounds was definitely on today. Her curiosity piqued at the slight hint in his tone that Jazz had something other than small talk in mind.

“Prime has asked ta meet with ya again.”

The comfortable silence fled.

Damn, she should have known Prime wasn’t going to magically go away.

Jazz didn’t seem to expect a response, but his next question was so random she was completely taken aback.

“Are ya happy here, Maggie?”

Where did that come from?

“‘Cause if you’re not, then ya shouldn’t stay.”

 _What_?

“Wait… what? Yes, yes I’m happy. I love this, all of it, the job, everything.”

A long silence.

“Okay,” Jazz finally said. “I just wanted ta be sure. Now that I am, there’s somethin’ I need ta make clear.”

 _Uh oh_. Maggie had heard enough warnings in her career to recognize one when it was coming.

When Jazz spoke again, his voice was firm and authoritative.

“I know Prime makes ya nervous, Maggie. He’s a big mech, and ya got off to a bumpy start with him. But Prime has vetted everyone on this team. That’s his right, and he has the final say on whether ya stay or not. Now I told Prime I’d get you two together, and I’d like for that ta happen very soon, today if possible.”

Maggie looked away from the glowing lights on the dash, chastened, and a little ashamed of her fears.

“I understand.” She took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry.”

She felt a little press of the seat belts across her waist and chest, like a comforting squeeze.

“Don’t be,” Jazz said. “Three weeks is hardly enough time ta get used ta all this. I said ya were doin’ good, and I meant it. That’s why I’m gonna push this now. Go see Prime. Do it today. Get it over with, put it behind ya, then you’re home free.”

Maggie’s shoulders drooped tiredly. As much as she might wish for it, she wasn’t going to get out of this. Suck it up, Maggie, she scolded herself.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

Maggie heard a low humming, like a soft croon. The seatbelt gripped and released once again.

“Good,” Jazz said. “Now that the boss stuff is out of the way, we can move on ta the friend stuff.”

Jazz saw her surprise, the way her eyes darted to his dashboard.

“Friends?” Maggie’s voice was hesitant.

He gave her another comforting squeeze with his seatbelt.

“Friends,” he repeated. “I like ya, Maggie, and I want ya ta stay. I think of ya as a friend, same as Mikaela and Sam. When ya go ta see Prime, I’ll be with ya.”

Maggie straightened, thrilled and relieved to have him with her.

“Thank you for coming with me. _Thank_ you.”

Jazz watched her perk up, and chuckled. “Thought ya might like that.”

Maggie felt a little ripple through the seat beneath her, echoing his amusement. His voice held a warm, teasing note. “Hey, I’ll even hold your hand, if ya want.”

Maggie laughed and patted the dashboard. “That’s okay. Just having you there is enough. I do really want to stay, so it’s time for me to deal with this. Let’s head back to Base.”

Her seat vibrated with his deep laugh. “That a’ girl. Hang on now.”

Maggie shrieked as Jazz spun into a one-eighty and roared for home.

\-----------------------------

Prime watched the small femme with interest. Maggie had declined the helping hand of himself or Jazz, electing instead to make the long climb up to the top of his desk using the human-sized embedded metal steps.

He had his desk cleared, having learned that sitting next to stacks of human-sized datapads made all the humans nervous, every last one of them. Maggie sat now on the small couch he kept for these occasions, calmer than he’d ever seen her. Prime sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

 **:** I’m surprised you got her in to see me, Jazz **:**

 **:** She knows how important this is, and I said I’d come with her **:**

“It’s a pleasure to finally have a chance to chat with you, Miss Madsen.”

“Please, call me Maggie.”

“Certainly.” Prime inclined his head, noting the way the little femme glanced at Jazz from time to time.

 **:** She seems to trust you **:** the Prime concluded. **:** That’s good **:**

 **:** Told her I’d keep her safe from the really big, giant alien robot **:** was the laughing reply.

 **:** She’s doing well? **:**

 **:** She is. Another week and she can take over **:**

 **:** Good. That will free you up for the next task I have in mind. Maggie can report directly to me from then on **:**

 **:** ’Kay, boss **:**

Prime smiled at the newest member of his team. “Let’s get started then, Maggie. Jazz will stop me if I go on too long, I’m sure.

“Now as you may already know, we are autonomous robotic organisms, and our home world is Cybertron…”

 _tbc_

_______________

A/N: My thanks once again to Ladydragon76 and lb82, and also Chai76 who joined my beta team this chapter. In the face of some very trying RL issues, your help, encouragement, and support are so very much appreciated. <3


	6. Chapter 5

  
**~Chapter 5~**   


**Two Weeks after Maggie’s Arrival, Same Day**

Ratchet leaned over the worktable, watching Mikaela as she worked on the large component. Completely absorbed in her task, she gave no sign of being bothered by nearly two tons of living metal hovering just over her head. Mikaela split a large bundle of wires and clamped one section to the side and out of the way.

“Like this?”

“Yes, just like that. Keep going.”

“I need another clamp.”

Large fingers extended a tiny clamp, and Mikaela took it with a murmur of thanks.

Ratchet watched her progress as she continued, humming under her breath. She made quiet, pleasing sounds while she worked. Ratchet found them to be soothing.

Mikaela paused to look up at him. “Can I see that spec sheet again?”

“Not memorized yet? That was yesterday’s assignment.”

Mikaela looked back at the component. “I know, and I can visualize almost all the steps, except for right here. I’m drawing a blank.”

Ratchet leaned closer. Warm air puffed over her. “I would rather you try without seeing it again. You won’t always have access to datapads, or me, so you’ll have to rely on your own memory.” Ratchet’s fingers lifted her arms into position over the component. “I want you to backtrack a few steps through what you’ve already done, and we’ll see if that helps to fill in your blank spot. Unless you’ve reconsidered my offer to install a memory module.”

Mikaela laughed. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

Ratchet’s low chuckle reverberated the plates just behind her head as Mikaela set to work again.

Thirty minutes later, with a little swearing on her part and a little patient coaching on Ratchet’s part, and the component was ready.

Mikaela crowed with delight. “I did it!”

“You did it,” he agreed, “congratulations on your first refurbish.” Ratchet extended a finger to her and Mikaela looked torn between hugging it and patting it. She ended up doing both, and he smiled at her exuberance.

She stepped back and Ratchet activated his anti-contaminant field. The air shimmered around the unit as dust and trace elements were removed.

“Who gets this one?” she asked.

“Ironhide.”

“Again? You just replaced one not that long ago.”

“That was a secondary unit; his design has several redundant systems. The main one is showing some signs of wear. I’ll need to take it out to repair it.”

Ratchet picked up the component and ran another scan over it. Wires and cabling began extending from ports on all sides, and then retracted again. The ports vanished, leaving a smooth, featureless block of metal.

“It’s ready. I’ll let you help me with the installation when Ironhide gets here.”

Mikaela’s mouth dropped open. “You think he’ll let me?” Ironhide barely tolerated Ratchet’s medical ministrations.

“Certainly. He needs this unit and you need the training.” Ratchet’s optics glinted. “I’ll bolt him down if necessary. Let’s get everything organized now. A good medic always cleans up as soon as the job is done.”

Ratchet took out a cloth and began wiping down the work surface, listening to Mikaela hum as she began cleaning her tools. _Very pleasant_. He paused and looked towards the door.

“They’re here.”

Ratchet observed them carefully as they entered, scanners registering the telltale signs of stress in the small femme and her large Guardian.

Not a proper Guardianship at all, and painful to watch, the way Sarah was still uncomfortable with him. She rarely looked him in the optics, or spoke to him other than necessary communications. The small flinch as he stepped past her and into the medbay revealed her discomfort. Ironhide, for his part, revealed nothing at all, yet the insistent prod of Guardian instincts demanding the bond be completed had to be goading and frustrating him no end. It was taking its toll; Ratchet could hear the strain, the deep, almost angry hum of tension in his systems.

“Any progress?” Ratchet ran a cursory scan over Ironhide’s main system.

“No,” Ironhide replied curtly, his attention focused on Sarah, where she stood next to the door talking with Mikaela. Annabelle was on the floor next to her in the carrier, sleeping.

“You need to spend more time with her,” Ratchet told him. “Let her get used to you.”

“She spends her time in the house,” Ironhide said. “Want me to tear the roof off and go in after her?”

Ah. Tension, indeed.

“Hardly,” Ratchet replied. “A better idea would be for you to work off some of your frustration. Go out to the target range and blow things up for a while. I’ll check Sarah and Annabelle, and finish up with you later.”

Ironhide nodded and moved towards the door, when a small squealing sound made him pause and look down. Annabelle was awake, and squealed again, reaching tiny arms up as Sarah bent to lift her. Only Ratchet noticed the way the little femme’s eyes tracked Ironhide as he left.

Ratchet opened his comm link to Optimus.

 **:** Are you still planning on speaking to Ironhide? **:**

 **:** Yes. Is he done there? **:**

 **:** For now. You can catch up with him out on the target range, and I’d like you to do something for me while you’re there **:**

 **:** What’s that? **:**

 **:** Normally, I wouldn’t be suggesting this, but this is Ironhide we’re talking about **:**

 **:** Go on **:**

 **:** When he’s done shooting up the range, I want you to fight him **:**

 **:** Fight him? **:**

 **:** Sparring, hand-to-hand, pick a fight with him if you have to, some physical activity will do him good. Help him work off some of that frustration that’s playing havoc with his systems **:**

Silence from Prime’s end. Ratchet could almost hear the processors straining.

 **:** You’re right, this isn’t something I’d expect you to suggest **:** Prime finally replied.

 **:** He needs it, Optimus **:**

A soft chuckle across the link had Prime’s attention riveting on Ratchet’s next words.

 **:** And I have a feeling you’re going to need the high-grade I’ll have ready and waiting, courtesy of Jazz, after you’re done slagging each other. For purely medicinal reasons, of course **:**

 **:** You think I’m out of practice? **:**

 **:** Oh, Jazz thinks you can take him. I think you’ll be lucky if Ironhide doesn’t kick your aft into next week **:** was Ratchet’s cheerful rejoinder. **:** Have fun, Optimus **:**

Optimus snorted and transformed, heading out to the target range.

\---------------------

Prime waited silently as Ironhide lined up his shot. The massive black plasma cannon charged with a deep hum, then fired. The target disappeared in a hail of debris and a cloud of smoke, the loud blast echoing from the detonating ordnance.

Perfect.

Prime turned to see Ironhide watching him.

“Are you here to practice or lecture me?”

“Practice.” Prime stepped up next to Ironhide and raised his own impressive cannon. “I thought we might talk too.”

Prime’s first shot was slightly wide of the mark.

He heard a faint, amused sound from Ironhide.

“You need to get out here more often.”

“Mmm,” Prime agreed, and recalibrated his weapon. “How are your charges?”

“Not good. They are no longer engaged in negotiations; even their fights have stopped. They speak about their offspring and nothing more. The Captain spends a good deal of time with his team, preparing for their next mission.”

“And you?”

Ironhide shrugged. “Frustrated. Neither of them understands my role. In my opinion, you’d have been better off placing a watchdrone in this position.”

Prime pondered this as he sighted his weapon again. “It’s true their concept of Guardian is limited compared to ours.”

“Extremely,” Ironhide added dryly.

Prime’s next shot took out another stack of old ordnance with a resounding _boom_.

Ironhide nodded approval.

“Better,” he said, and Prime lowered his gun and turned to face him.

“Are you sure you want to stay on as Guardian?”

“You gave me a job, Optimus. I’m just trying to do it.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time you told me what I could do with a job either,” Prime said.

A huff of amusement from Ironhide. “If not for Barricade sniffing around, I might have told you just that.”

“But he did,” Prime said, “and now you’re a Guardian again, or trying to be, and I’m wondering if this is the right course of action.”

Ironhide’s optics narrowed. “Do you have a problem with how I’m handling things?”

“It is not your ability I'm questioning so much as your timing last week with Captain Lennox. By rebuking one of their own, in public, you put your Guardianship in a negative light with allies who don’t yet understand us. I gave you this task because I knew you could keep your head no matter how trying the circumstances. You’re an experienced Guardian, Ironhide, but this situation is not normal. Please be aware of the delicacy of our position and try to avoid a repeat.”

Ironhide’s response was an irritable blow of air, along with a gruff, “Understood.”

Prime looked him over carefully, wondering if Ratchet might have understated the problem.

“Your Guardian protocols are not fully engaged, your systems are stressed and Ratchet is worried. So am I. Let me assign Jazz instead. You don’t have to do this, ‘Hide.”

“No, I want to remain as Guardian,” Ironhide said.

Prime felt his optic ridges rising in surprise. At his look, Ironhide sent a stream of data images.

 _Ironhide reaching out to examine his smallest charge. Sarah placing herself between Ironhide and her offspring, pushing against a hand as big as she was, Ironhide moving her aside, but the little femme came right back and got in his way again, refusing to back down_

Prime caught the edge of astonishment, and a slow, almost reluctant admiration from Ironhide, coming along with the data.

“She’s brave,” Prime remarked. “No weapons or armor, but she stood against you to protect her child, with no thought for her own safety.”

Ironhide resumed his stance, lining up another shot. “The femme’s got some metal in her backstruts, I’ll give her that.”

“We’ll leave things as they are then, for the time being,” Prime said. He cleared his vocalizer and Ironhide lowered his cannon to look at him.

“Ratchet says I should help you work off some frustration.”

“Oh, really,” Ironhide said. “And what was his suggestion for doing that?”

A smile flickered across Prime’s faceplates. “He said we should fight.”

“Really,” said Ironhide again.

Prime nodded. “The rules of engagement will be as follows.” He raised one hand and began ticking them off. “Number One, No Cannons. Number Two, No-”

Ironhide’s tackle took him out at the knees.

\-------------------------

Sam stared out the window, not even pretending to drive.

He should have known it was too good to be true, those first days and weeks after Mission City. New car, new girl and a brand new alien race all rolled into one huge rush of excitement. The high was incredible. The crash that was threatening now was going to hurt like hell.

Mikaela spent most of her time in the medbay. She had found her niche, her purpose in life, and it wasn’t that Sam didn’t want her to be happy, but he couldn’t help feeling left out.

They didn’t have a lot in common. In fact, Mikaela probably had more in common with the Autobots than with him.

Shit.

He was going to lose the girl. He knew it. Mikaela probably knew it too. It was just a matter of time.

Sam reached out and touched the steering wheel in front of him, running his fingers lightly around the curve.

At least he still had Bee.

He sighed and looked out the window again, his Autobot’s engine a deep, soothing hum in the background.

The visit to his parents had gone about the way he’d expected. It was almost a script by now.

Mom: Oh just look at you! Are you eating, Sammy?

Dad: Are they feeding you, son?

Mom: Of course they’re not, Ron! What would giant alien robots know about feeding a boy?

Himself: Yeah, mom, dad, I’m eating, there’s plenty of food.

Sam leaned his head against the window.

Plenty of food at his parents too, and he choked down what he could, though the thought of eating made him feel sick, made the bile rise up in his throat, made him swallow hard, repeatedly, to get it back down.

Oh… _shit_.

“Bee! ‘Bee! Pull over, now!”

The bright yellow Camaro swerved to the side of the road. The passenger door was flung open, and Sam bolted out, staggering a few steps away before falling onto his hands and knees and vomiting into the dirt. The sound of Bumblebee transforming behind him was drowned out by his own violent retching.

Sam’s stomach heaved several more times, before finally deciding it was done torturing him. He crawled away from the mess that had been dinner--- _look Sammy, I made all your favorites_ \---and collapsed onto his back, panting, his eyes closed to block out the sunlight trying to stab into his skull.

Hundreds of images assaulted him; the harsh chop of deadly blades as he ran for his life, the floor exploded two steps behind him, the roof fell away beneath his feet, Lennox grabbed him and hauled him up close, You’re a soldier now!--- _but I’m not a soldier, I’m not_. Prime shouted, an alien voice screamed in his mind as he pushed the Cube into the monster’s chest, Bumblebee’s chestplates opened and Sam fell headlong into brilliant blue light and disappeared…

A shadow fell across him. He opened his eyes to see his giant Guardian hovering above him, calling his name. “Sam, _Sam_.” The low, hoarse voice strained through static, the vocalizer still far from normal functioning. Sam looked up into Bumblebee’s bright blue optics and shivered. His Autobot’s hand reached for him, a fingerpad touched Sam’s cheek. Sam gasped and flinched away, the sudden bite of pain zinging through him like cold metal against an exposed nerve.

“Don’t touch me!”

Bumblebee’s hand jerked back.

“Sam, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I… don’t know.” Sam gritted his teeth against another wave of nausea. His body flashed from freezing cold to burning up in an instant. He heard the faint sound of Bumblebee’s scan.

“Sam, you have a fever.”

A fever, just a fever. He could deal with that. Probably just the change in the weather. Lots of people getting sick this time of year. Sam sat up with a groan, then got to his feet, shaky and a little dizzy. Bumblebee’s hand lifted again, wanting to touch, to help. Sam could see the fingers twitch.

“I should take you to Ratchet,” Bumblebee said, still hovering.

“I don’t need to, it’s just fever or maybe a cold. No big deal. Let’s just get home, ‘Bee.”

Bumblebee looked stubborn and ready to argue, and Sam withheld a sigh. His Guardian had an overprotective streak a mile wide.

“Please, ‘Bee, I just need some sleep.” Sam didn’t need to fake the whine in his voice or the tiredness that was creeping over him. He swayed on his feet and Bumblebee relented with a worried look, transforming into his alt-mode. Bee-as-Camaro looked worried too, and how he managed to do that, Sam had no idea.

The driver door popped open and Sam sat down wearily. His seat was reclined, belts secured him, windows were darkened. The car pulled back onto the road to the Base, and ‘Bee’s voice whispered around him in the dim interior.

“Alright, Sam, but if you’re not better by morning, I’m taking you to Ratchet.”

“Fine,” mumbled Sam, already half-asleep.

Bumblebee continued his scans as he drove, interior sensors trained on Sam as he snuggled deeper into the seat and dozed off.

\------------------------

Prime’s deep chuckle greeted him, Ironhide’s rumble, Ratchet’s lighter laugh. A gathering of old friends he hadn’t seen in too many vorns.

“Well, this brings back memories,” Jazz said. He unsubspaced cubes of high-grade and set them out on Ratchet’s workbench. “So who won?”

“I assumed it was a draw, when I saw Ironhide holding his shoulder and Optimus limping into the Medbay.” Ratchet handed two cubes to them.

“I got the first strike in. Down on his aft in one hit.” Ironhide’s optics gleamed with satisfaction. Bringing Prime down was no easy task.

“Only because you didn’t wait for me to finish with the rules,” Prime pointed out.

“Rules? You think the ‘Cons are going to wait for you to read them the rules?” Ironhide huffed.

Jazz sipped his high-grade. His keen optics missed nothing. Prime was calm, Ratchet was relaxed, and the tension torqueing Ironhide’s frame into knots was conspicuous by its absence. A relief, to be sure, but only a brief one. The situation between Prime and Ratchet, and Ironhide and the Lennoxes, had no easy resolution.

His own restless need prodded at him. Jazz finished his high-grade and dispersed the cube with a flick of his fingers. “That’s it for me. Gotta date with two lovely little femmes. Later, my mechs, boss.”

He strolled out the door, leaving the three staring after him.

“Well, that was brief,” said Ratchet, running a last scan over Ironhide’s new module.

“What’s a ‘date’?” Ironhide asked.

“No idea,” Prime said, rubbing one fingerpad along a jaw servo. “And what would the femmes have to do with it?”

“It’s Jazz,” Ratchet said. “Do you really want to know? Now who’s for more high-grade?”

“One more for me, then I need to get Sarah home.” Ratchet handed a cube to Ironhide, and offered one to Prime.

“Like old times, “ Optimus said, accepting the cube with a smile of thanks.

It would take time to adjust to this new world of theirs. That’s what they all needed, and thanks be to Primus and the death of Megatron, they were getting it. A true gift. Prime’s optics lingered on Ratchet, watching the quick, easy smile, the flush of high-grade through his systems brightening his optics.

Ratchet had simply forgotten the way things needed to be, in the long vorns they spent apart, but he was calmer now, happier. He was settling in, he would be fine. They had both forgotten how to be together, how to make this work.

“To old times,” Ironhide said, raising his cube, then downing half of it.

Time, it would take a little time, but things would balance out again. Ratchet would adjust, things could go back to the way they were, and Prime could do his job a little easier, having his friend with him again.

The high-grade was heating his systems nicely. In no way had Jazz lost his touch there.

“To old times,” Prime repeated and Ratchet echoed the sentiment. Prime raised his cube and smiled at him. Ratchet returned it, optics warm and content.

\-------------------------

Quiet and completely dark out behind the Autobot Base, with no moon to dim the holoimages. No brooding, either. Not for him, not tonight. Jazz was on a mission.

He sat and watched the two girls watching his display. Prime approved; Maggie was here to stay. They were celebrating, and Mikaela had begged for one of his light shows.

Processors whirred busily, accessing files gathered over millions of their years and projecting holoimages against the desert backdrop.

A bright star slowly expanded, burning hotter and hotter. Planets vaporized in its blazing corona. The star continued to expand, engulfing everything in its path.

 _Sam,_ his AI suggested.

Jazz immediately pinged a negative. There were signs that Bumblebee’s interest was extending beyond his Guardianship of Sam. There wasn’t much Jazz missed, and he certainly didn’t miss the little hint of possessiveness in Bumblebee’s tone or the fact that he was calling Sam ‘his.’ He would not welcome Jazz’s interest in his charge, nor was Jazz about to interfere in their relationship. Prime seemed to have staked a secondary claim to Sam as well, and Jazz had to wonder just when that had taken place, but he sighed and shrugged it off. Apparently, he missed a lot when he was dead.

A gigantic spiral galaxy appeared next, seemingly frozen in an endless swirl until Jazz set it spinning. The girls chorused a series of ‘ooo’s’ as bright matter streamed from the galaxy’s arms.

 _Mikaela,_ his AI offered.

A few processors mulled that over, while Jazz continued musing over current affairs on the Base.

Prime had been gone for the entire week, giving Ratchet a chance to regain whatever steady state he was able to achieve in his present position, and Jazz didn’t envy him that position in the slightest. Prime was remarkable for his ability to see the big picture, and put the needs of the many ahead of his own desires. He was doing what he thought best for both of them, and fair or not, reasonable or not, Prime had made that decision long ago. It would probably take someone lighting a smelter under his aft to get him to budge now. Prime could be stubborn that way. Whether Ratchet could stand the strain or simply leave again, remained to be seen.

An immense nebula sent out glowing tendrils of cosmic dust and matter, swept with brilliant colors of red, blue, and rosy pink.

More processors whirled and clicked, looking over the latest files his AI provided, and snatching up any and all data files from the internet outside of the AI’s search parameters concerning human anatomy, biology, psychology, and their first tentative scientific steps towards integrating technology with their own bodies. Interesting. At their current rate of progress, a few hundred years from now, they would be a techno-organic species.

Jazz regretfully pinged a negative on Mikaela. She could feel most scans and she hated them, a peculiarity that intrigued Ratchet no end. His search to find out why, which of course involved the use of scans, had led to some interesting battles between the two. Even Jazz’s stealth scanners made her twitch, and scans were an imperative for something this delicate. He would have to run them constantly. This was going to be challenging enough, and Jazz couldn’t imagine a worse mood killer for Mikaela if he tried.

The nebula exploded in a colorful blaze, and high, excited sounds chorused from the little femmes sitting in front of him. More files were accessed, and Jazz began forming the second part of his light show.

A large city built up from the ground. Tall towers stretched up into the night, necklaced with bridges that hung gracefully between them. Thousands of mechs moved along walkways. Silver pods streaked through the night sky. Alien architecture pinnacled and swooped and arched, creating strange shapes that gleamed with gold and silver and jewel-tone colors. Jazz added an aurora borealis shimmering with shades of blue as a backdrop and both girls sighed their appreciation.

Mikaela leaned back against his leg to stare up into the sky at the glowing city. After a moment’s hesitation, Maggie followed suit.

“What city is this?” she asked.

“Our capital, Iacon,” Jazz said.

 _Maggie,_ his AI stated.

 _Hmmm_.

The AI responded to his momentary hesitation with a databurst of information about her, including things Jazz had missed, like the slight intake of air and the elevated heart rate when she saw him each morning.

 _Nervousness,_ Jazz dismissed.

 _Interest, curiosity,_ the AI insisted.

Jazz relayed his doubts. Maggie was new, still adjusting. She might not welcome the added complication.

“That’s wonderful,” Mikaela said. “Are those alt-modes or little spaceships zipping around?”

“It’s beautiful, Jazz,” Maggie sighed. “I’d love to go there.”

“Both, Mikaela. And I dunno, Maggie, some of those mechs are pretty big,” Jazz teased.

Maggie grinned up at him. “I’d take my chances, just to see that city in person.”

 _Curiosity and interest,_ the AI repeated firmly, _these can be built on to achieve the desired goal._

Jazz watched Maggie settle herself more comfortably against him. Long hair tickled pleasantly over the sensors of his leg plating.

 _Alright then, Maggie it is,_ Jazz decided.

His AI signaled acknowledgment and updated the project file.

 _tbc_


	7. Chapter 6

  
**  
~Chapter 6~**   


**Cybertron—Distant Past**

His trainer was ‘it’ this time, his quarry, his prey. Barricade’s sensors tested the air for faint odors, picked up traces of a cloaked energy signature; infrared sensors tracked the telltale signs of heat. Disruption, disturbance. The trail split into two. He stopped, every sensor straining to its limits, instincts stretching, casting about. A trace, miniscule, very faint. The subtle indicator of a dampening field, set on yet another path. The true trail. He smirked and continued on, crept cautiously over the small rise, and froze as he spotted his quarry. He studied it, noting the posture, the lack of tension in the frame. It was not expecting him this soon, and its back was turned to him. All too easy. A smile stretched his lips, predatory, eager. He moved stealthily, masking his own signals, the thrill of the hunt coursing through him.

The scent was strong, the energy signature bright, the heat of his prey excited him, made him wild, filled him with a strange urge. He pounced on his trainer, knocking him to the ground, and shouted in ecstasy as spark energy left him in a violent rush. The old one grunted with surprise and pain.

Barricade was gripped hard and thrown to his back, the old one’s weight crushed him down. Powerful energy swamped him, rebuffed his with ease, made him scream in agony as it backlashed through his systems. His trainer stood up and stared down, expressionless, as he lay on the ground, panting and whimpering with pain and shock.

:We do not take without asking, young one: Stern tones, a harsh rebuke, but under them, pride in Barricade’s strength and skill, concern, thoughtfulness, sudden speculation.

His trainer’s expression softened to warmth, and he pulled Barricade up into an embrace. Barricade held him tight and sobbed with shame, and the old one gentled him with soothing strokes and a soft hum.

:Have you interfaced before?: Questioning tone, but with a sense of knowing, of resignation.

Barricade shook his head, too overwrought to speak. His intakes heaved another sob. More soothing strokes and a sigh.

:I am sorry I was so harsh, young one. I did not think of that possibility. I assumed a deliberate attack: Tones of apology, sympathy and regret, a deeper understanding.

Barricade shuddered and clutched tighter. :I’m sorry, too: Barricade’s tones held the slow, deep notes of anguish, pain, shame, and failure.

:You do not need to be, the fault is mine. Come to my quarters tonight and share my berth, young one. I will teach you what you need to know: His trainer’s harmonics were layered with authority, the need to impart knowledge, acknowledgement of youth, but concern that one so strong had received no training.

:You wish to train me in this also?: Doubt, hesitancy, shyness, a wistful yearning for something less formal, more intimate.

Barricade’s uncertainty was answered with soft tones of agreement, the promise of enjoyment and intimacy. :If you are willing, I shall become your Guardian. I will guide you and teach you control, how to give and take pleasure without harming others:

A deep hum from the old one vibrated through his frame, causing his systems to rev. Barricade moaned with arousal and pressed closer, signaling his acceptance.

\-----------------

He shivered, half-fearful, as his Guardian joined him on the large berth. A hand stroked down his front, glowing purple optics studied him. He startled at the use of his name.

:No pain this time, Barricade, only that which will increase your pleasure. Your energies are violent. We will take the edge off them, to start. Learning control will be easier when they are less forceful:

:I will become weaker then, as I learn?: Barricade sneered at the thought, his harmonics clashing with the discordant tones of disgust, a rejection of weakness, arrogance and pride in his strength, a desire for more.

The stroking hand was withdrawn, purple optics narrowed. :Be careful, young one, not to mistake violence for strength. The true test of strength lies in your ability to control it, rather than force it upon those around you. That is the standard by which you will be judged by others:

Barricade’s optics dropped away in apology. His Guardian sighed.

:Have no fear that you will weaken. Quite the contrary. There is a wild thing that lives in our sparks, Barricade, all those with instincts such as we possess. Ages ago, we hunted, fought, killed almost daily in order to survive. We no longer live like that; our instincts are not needed, yet here we are. We were sparked outside of our proper time and place, and Primus alone knows why we are here:

:The wild thing is strong, it cannot be tamed, time will not weaken it. It will desire many things, but only one thing will content it. For some, it is exploring the endless reaches of space; for others, the struggle to tame a new world proves enticing. Many more have answered the call to war, where our instincts can be fully unleashed. You will have to discover for yourself what will bring it, and you, peace:

:But come. I did not bring you here to talk. I will teach you a different language now:

A soft, husky purr as his Guardian moved closer, optics beginning to brighten. The mask was removed to reveal pleasant features, a slight smile on a well-shaped mouth. Barricade was pulled close, his chin tilted up, a whisper to shutter his optics. Then his mouth was pressed, he felt firm lips moving against his, a gentle coaxing pressure, and he began learning, exploring curiously, testing and tasting.

A tilt of the head above his, and the kiss became deeper, harder. It jolted his systems, made him run hot, vents hissed to life. The kiss ended. He keened a little with disappointment. A soft chuckle, lips moving over his face, a low purr against his audial. He nodded his head and whimpered a plea, lifting his face for another kiss. Hands held his head, his mouth was taken and ravished, he moaned with it.

He was hot now, burning, intakes cycled furiously as the kiss gentled and ended. Clever fingers began to move over his frame, feather-light, barely touching. Energy gathered, racing through him, his systems roaring. He growled with frustration, pushing against the taunting hands, the teasing half-touches. The touches became tweaks, half-twists of delicate wires, cables were palmed, squeezed and pinched. The mouth joined in, closing over him, nipping and biting. He groaned, his frame twisting with the pleasure-pain.

His world narrowed to that mouth, those hands. They moved over his frame, skillfully dipping into seams, under plates, entering delicately into hidden recesses, places so intimate he gasped with shock as he writhed in ecstasy. He was brought to overload twice by touch alone, before his Guardian released the powerful energies that made him arch up and scream out his pleasure, and then threw him down into darkness.

\------------------

He was desperate, passion raged. :I want you, I want you! Please, let me have you!: Lust and violence laced through his tones, the urge to take what he needed by force:

:Very well. You may take me:

The cool, passionless response confused him for a moment, but he was too aroused to stop. He kissed, he stroked, he kneaded. His mouth moved over sensitive nodes, teeth bit into cables, his energies surged relentlessly. His Guardian lay beneath him, no whispers, no soft moans, no passion. Nothing.

Barricade snarled, bit his Guardian’s throatplating, and took him harshly, brutal and uncaring. He spent his energies and collapsed with another snarl, angry and frustrated. The wild thing behind his chestplates snapped and raged at him. He rolled off, and lay staring at the wall, sickened, empty, a bitter taste in his mouth.

:You didn’t want me. Why did you agree?:

:We have been over this so many times and still you have not learned. You do not take without asking:

:I did ask! I did!:

:No, you did not. You whined, you pleaded, you pushed me to agree. There is a reason I insist on using our ancient language of tones. Nothing can be hidden then, all emotions are revealed. Did you think I missed the violence in you? You would have tried to take me by force, if I continued to refuse. I chose to accept you:

:But there was no passion in you, no hunger! You gave me nothing!:

:That, too, was my choice:

Barricade curled into himself with a sob. :I don’t understand:

:And you will not, until you learn that the taking of a mate unwilling is an empty thing, like hitting a mark set too low, the taking of an easy prey. There is no challenge, no thrill, no honor or satisfaction in that. You must learn to listen with all your skills. Did you scent my readiness in the air? Did you see the welcoming glow in my optics? Did your audials register the sounds of my passion? Did your sensors track the building heat in my systems? Of course not. All the signs of my refusal were there, yet you ignored them. You shame yourself as a Hunter, and me as your Guardian, by doing so:

Barricade turned to the old one and pressed up against him. :I’m sorry, I’m sorry:

A gentle hum, a soothing vibration, a hand stroked his back. :I was young once, too, and it is a hard lesson to learn. Our instincts urge us to take our prey violently. We walk a fine line between that and the taking of our mates. That is why you must listen carefully to your mate to know what is desired, to give them pleasure as you take yours. That is also why I teach you how to take and be taken, to have control and to give it up, so that you will understand the pleasure in both:

:Remember your grief, your emptiness, the taste of sickness and bitterness. I do not need to ask to know that the wild thing in you is far from content. Remember this lesson, and take it deep inside of you:

\-------------------------

Pain. Chaos. Death.

His entire world was destroyed in less than two cycles.

All around him, the elder ones of his settlement fought against the invaders. Outnumbered, outsized, yet still they fought on. One Hunter leapt up the sword arm of a giant gestalt mech and then onto the torso. Another leap, and he was in position at the head. Fangs bared, claws swiping savagely, the Hunter ripped out an optic. With a howl of pain, the giant mech seized the Hunter in an enormous hand and crushed him into shards. A dozen Hunters fell at the sweep of the giant’s sword. A dozen more swarmed in to take their place.

Barricade hunched over the body of the old one, a keen ripped from his vocalizer.

A hand shook him roughly. “We have to go!”

Barricade hissed at the mech, just a few vorns older than himself.

“I’m not leaving him!”

The other crouched by his side. “He’s dead.”

“He was my Guardian!” Barricade keened again, wild with grief.

Hands grabbed him and hauled him up. A harsh growl rattled his audial. “He died for you. Repay him now, by living.”

Barricade snarled and tried to shake him off. Three other young Hunters ran up. “That’s it, we can go. Everyone we could find is out.”

The older mech released him. “You coming? Or are you waiting on them?” He nodded at two more huge gestalts slowly coming towards them.

Barricade knelt down beside his Guardian. He kissed the lifeless hands, the cold lips, and bit back the wail of pain and anguish that threatened to tear him apart.

He turned it all into rage instead, climbing to his feet and screaming hate and defiance at his enemy.

Then he turned and ran with the others.

\-------------------------

The two friends sat at their usual table outside of the energon station, watching the public vid screen showing a follow-up to a news story. An ‘incident’ had occurred earlier that week, involving neutrals. Such incidents were occurring all too frequently, but this one stood out because of its targets.

A settlement of Hunter mechs, a reclusive subgroup of Cybertronians. They had their own customs, their own culture, and were largely a mystery to everyone else. The attack itself was baffling. The leaders of the settlement had declared their neutral status less than a vorn ago. The vid screen flashed through images of the aftermath.

“They didn’t go down without putting up one Pit of a fight,” Ratchet commented, expert optics assessing the battle damage to the empty shells, both the smaller Hunters and their larger foes alike.

“They wouldn’t,” Orion agreed. “The older ones would have fought ‘til they off-lined, allowing their young time to escape.”

Ratchet looked at him.

“Archivist,” Orion reminded. “We get to see quite a lot of interesting data.”

“Ah.”

Ratchet’s attention shifted to the medics moving among the fallen mechs. A small sigh, a worried look, and Orion’s optics were focusing on his friend. Ratchet nodded at the vid screen.

“I’ve seen some older medics like that at the hospital. They’ve been at this a lot longer than I have and they’re almost like drones. They’ve seen too many wounded, too much death. Slag it, they don’t even seem to notice if someone’s in pain. It’s as if they’ve shut a part of themselves down and they just don’t care anymore. Primus forbid the same thing happens to me, but I’m afraid that it will, sooner or later.”

“That could never happen to you, Ratch,” Orion assured him. “You’ve got too much passion in you, and you care too much about your patients to ever let that happen.”

“You know me that well, do you,” Ratchet remarked. “What am I? A datapad?”

“To me you are,” Orion said. “You wear your feelings right out in the open.” One optic shuttered in a wink. “It’s us quiet ones you have to wonder about. You never know what’s going on inside.”

Orion gave him that slow, easy smile, and Ratchet felt the stutter ripple through his processors. Again. For the hundredth time.

The news story ended, and Orion’s attention returned to the vid screen. Another announcement. No suitable Matrix Bearer had yet been found. The Temple priests continued to search for candidates.

Ratchet paid it scant notice, instead letting his optics wander over Orion, sitting with his arms crossed over his large chest. Those arms had held him several times now, supporting him through the grief and turmoil of losing a patient. Orion’s smile still lingered, his mouth lifting at the corners. Those lips had brushed Ratchet’s helm, the deep voice had murmured comfort into his audials.

The more time they spent together, the more Ratchet appreciated the calm depths in Orion, let Orion wash over him, ease his worries and fears, soothe the hurt and anger that failure always brought. Ratchet in a temper had everyone scattering, but Orion could weather his harshest mood with that same steady calm, and quell him with a word or look if he went too far. They were a good fit, Orion was handsome, and Ratchet was ready for more.

Orion shifted, and Ratchet’s optics were drawn to the rippling, flexing dermal plates, gleaming with good health. Orion’s frame build boasted strong, clean lines, his shoulders broad, tapering to a narrower waist and long, powerful flanks. Ratchet gazed openly. A soft sound drew his attention.

His optics raised to see Orion watching him, an optic ridge lifted slightly. Ratchet was sure he caught a glimpse of returned interest, a flash of heat glimmering in Orion’s optics.

Orion leaned forward, Ratchet opened his mouth to invite him to his berth… and then his medical comm interrupted, signaling him to report immediately to the hospital. Again. For the hundredth time.

Ratchet snarled and turned the signal off. Orion was already rising to his feet, anticipating his departure. The hint of passion was gone, the moment was over. Orion looked down at him, calm and reserved, and Ratchet’s vents blew out air in frustration. Orion’s control could be truly maddening, and Ratchet decided he’d had enough. No one could be that slagging calm all the time.

“You’re coming to my graduation tomorrow, right?”

“I’ll be there.” Orion left him with a squeeze of his shoulder and Ratchet watched him until he disappeared into the Archive building.

\----------------------

Ratchet scanned the crowd restlessly as he finished his cube, waiting for his friend. He spotted Orion’s tall figure as soon as he entered the room and began making his way over to him, murmuring apologies and ‘excuse me’s’ and when that didn’t work, glaring and pushing at a few of the bulkier mechs to get them to move.

Orion smiled as Ratchet came up to him. The new medic’s optics were bright with excitement, his speech the slightest bit slurred. “You missed it! I took first honors in my graduating class, Orion, and they voted me ‘Most likely to yank sparks back out of Primus’ hands’.” He grinned and swayed a little, and Orion laughed and put a hand out to steady him.

“I never had any doubts that you’d be first in your class, Ratch. I’m just sorry I got here too late to see the ceremony. Okay, show them to me.”

Ratchet unsubspaced his new credentials and displayed them proudly, watching as Orion looked them over and nodded his approval. “Congratulations, and they even spelled your name right.”

His friend huffed a laugh and poked him in the chest. “Figures you’d focus on the minor details. Look, right here.” He pointed to a silver-grey and red emblem. “That means first honors, and it also means that I get the best upgrades available for my hands and additional medical programming. And this,” he tapped his chevron lightly, “goes from plain white to silver-grey, and these,” he held up a white hand and wiggled his fingers in front of Orion’s optics, “will be red when next you see me.”

Orion chuckled and clasped Ratchet’s hand, drawing it down for a closer look. “Upgrades, huh? They look fine to me.” His thumb smoothed over Ratchet’s palm. “But I bet red’ll look good on you, Ratch.” A tremor went through the hand he was touching, and he looked up. Ratchet was smiling at him, his optics very bright.

Oops. Now was definitely not the time, and his friend was drunk, too. Slag. Orion sighed and released Ratchet’s hand, and pointed to the credentials. “Better put them away before you lose them, and congratulations again. You did great.”

Ratchet subspaced them and looked up at Orion. “Yes, I did, didn’t I?” He laughed, his systems revving with excitement and elation. Someone jostled past him in the packed room, he swayed again, and Orion drew him close to steady him. Ratchet laid his hand on Orion’s chestplates, and Orion watched, fascinated, as that hand began to trace the large center seam. He startled at the rev of his own systems, and Ratchet gave him a wicked smile, drew his head down, and kissed him.

Orion hesitated only a moment, before a growl vibrated through his plates and he pulled Ratchet into his arms. Desire sparked through his processors, he felt heat flaring out from Ratchet’s chestplates, and his own systems surged with the burn of passion. Their kiss deepened, he heard Ratchet moan, and Primus, the sound of it, erotic, yearning. He growled again and tightened his arms, too caught up to even think about what attention they might be attracting.

Orion uttered a sound of protest when the kiss ended, and then his head fell back as Ratchet’s mouth trailed down the cables of his neck, and moved to his chest seam. Orion gasped. Energy roared through him, and he barely kept his chestplates from springing open. It shocked him enough to bring back awareness of his surroundings. Even more shocking was the possibility of overloading, in public, if Ratchet continued. He clasped Ratchet’s hands firmly and drew him into a hard embrace, struggling for control. “We have to stop, we’re drawing attention.”

“No one’s paying any attention to us,” Ratchet murmured.

Orion looked around. The lights were dim, the edges of the room in near darkness. No one even glanced their way, and there were several other pairs off to the sides engaging in similar activities and even further along. Some had their chestplates wide open, enjoying their partner’s attentions. The sight was shockingly intimate, and incredibly arousing.

“Relax,” Ratchet said, with a chuckle, “we’re medics. There’s nothing we haven’t seen or done before, and our parties tend to get a little wild.”

“But you’re overcharged, I’d be taking advantage,” Orion protested weakly, almost moaning out loud when Ratchet’s mouth began tracing along his chest seam again.

Ratchet paused to look up at him, optics brilliant and glowing with passion. “I’m definitely not too overcharged for this. I’ve been wanting you for a long time now.”

His processors barely had time to register the fact that Ratchet’s desires were a match for his own, and then Ratchet drew him into another demanding kiss and Orion’s systems flooded with lust. His mouth crushed down in fierce response, and Ratchet shuddered in his arms, moaning. That soft, yearning, erotic sound was nearly enough to push him into overload right then, when suddenly the lights blazed up around them, and a voice was calling for attention over loud groans and cries of protest.

Orion broke the kiss, but kept Ratchet in a firm embrace. Ratchet dropped his head down to Orion’s shoulder and leaned against him, shaking a little. Fans whirred, dispelling heat from their systems. Orion brushed his lips against an audial with a low growl. “Been wanting you for quite some time, too, Ratch. As soon as you’re done here, let’s go back to my quarters.” Ratchet nodded and then the same voice was calling out for silence again, and the protests died down to soft murmurs.

They both listened as an official briefly announced that an accident had occurred at a large industrial plant… “aka, an attack,” Ratchet commented cynically and Orion quietly agreed… and that emergency protocols were now in effect for all hospital and clinic personnel.

“And that would be me.” Ratchet sighed, looking up at Orion with lingering passion and regret in his optics. “I have to go now, but come and see me at the clinic tomorrow.” He left to join his classmates as they hurried towards the exits.

Orion walked home alone, deeply disappointed, and sat in his quarters, his systems still surging from time to time, the ache of desire making him restless and unable to settle into recharge. He was tired and distracted the next day, and for once he rushed through his work, paying little attention to the numerous files and reports, and then hurriedly left to go and see his friend.

Ratchet wasn’t at the clinic, and the supervisor told him that the medic and most of his classmates had been sent to cover the emergency. Orion was even more disappointed to learn that the accident was in a completely different city. He wondered about Ratchet for the next decacycle, missing his friend keenly, hoping for a call, debating about traveling to see him, but by all accounts, it was chaos there, and Ratchet was no doubt swamped with patients, and Orion would only be in the way.

When the officials came to bring him to the temple complex, and he realized with a shock that he was being chosen, Orion’s last thought as the Matrix took him and the incredible changes began, was of Ratchet’s passionate kiss, and the deep regret that he would now never know where that might have led.


	8. Chapter 7

**~Chapter 7~**

**One Month After Maggie's Arrival**

 **Timeframe: Present day, just after Prologue events**

 

He sat parked on the hilltop overlook, watching the glow of lights that haloed the town below. The grass was soft, a pleasant sensation beneath his tires. Insects chirred and buzzed strange songs out into the night air, reminding him of another night, not so very long ago. The sweet smell of some blooming plant hung in the air, like the flowers Sam had brought to Mikaela. They made her smile, made her happy. The two had shared a kiss, then another, and another. Climbed inside him and he took them to where they could be alone, putting himself a discrete distance away, far enough for privacy but close enough to watch over them and keep them safe.

 _You could stay inside me, where it's warm._

Nervous laughter from Sam. _That would be too weird!_

A loving pat on his dash from Mikaela. _Sex is sort of messy with us, 'Bee,_ she said with a knowing little smile at Sam, and Bumblebee had watched the color rush up into his face.

Night time, the flowers next to her on the blanket, soft moans and tight embrace, flushed skin, panting breaths. An ache in him as he waited, wishing he didn't feel so alone. It was better when Sam was with him. Mikaela, too. The girl who saved him, the boy he loved.

They touched a place inside that was cold for too long, pushing aside the nightmares and the pain of Jazz's death. They were alive and warm and so very soft inside of him. He wanted to hold them forever.

Even after their first mating, Sam still blushed, all awkward, unsure young male where Mikaela was concerned. Bumblebee found this puzzling. Shouldn't Sam feel secure? Didn't they know where they stood with each other?

His unease grew, once he realized, and Bumblebee labored, trying to process how things could fall apart so fast from that promising beginning.

The throb of the engine registered first, then the flash of silver in the moonlight as the Solstice rounded the last curve. Jazz pulled off the road with a flourish that spun gravel from beneath his tires, in a good mood despite having lost the trace.

“No sign of him now. He’s out there, 'Bee, but he’s runnin’ in stealth mode.”

“Right. Just that tiny little blip on the scanners and then it vanished.”

"He’s sure ta have gone ta ground. May as well call it and head for home.”

Home. Home sounded good, or maybe he would find Sam and Mikaela and bring them back here to enjoy the view. Unless they were fighting or not talking or ignoring each other or- Bumblebee resolutely shunted those thoughts from his processors and began to turn towards the road.

"Oh hey, 'Bee, before we go back, there's somethin' I wanted ta show ya."

The Solstice was vibrating, with excitement or impatience or too much pent-up energy, maybe all three, and the Camaro came close with a querying sound. Data streamed between the two, and Bumblebee rocked back on his tires.

“Slag! We can do this? With _them_?"

"Workin' on the details as we speak, and I'm gonna have Ratchet check, too. A second set of optics on the programmin' will help."

"And Optimus? He said okay?”

“Permission granted,” Jazz responded with a low, exultant laugh. "All I need ta do is pick a partner and get started."

Bumblebee stirred, suddenly uneasy. "Who did you have in mind for this?"

Jazz didn't answer right away, and Bumblebee felt the sudden clench of his spark, the sweep of jealousy. "Not Sam, you can't choose him."

"You're his guardian, 'Bee, not his owner," Jazz said.

Bumblebee reacted before he could stop himself. He let out a growl, low and angry. "Sam is _m_ -" and then he caught the sharpened attention from the saboteur and clamped his vocalizer down, because Jazz was doing what he always did. Intelligence gathering, probing for secrets, and information was a valuable commodity no matter what it was or who it came from.

Bumblebee huffed at the soft chuckle, and Jazz nudged his bumper. "Just wanted ta be sure. I ain't a poacher, 'Bee. Sam's all yours. 'Kaela too, I'm guessin'."

"Yes, since they're together." _For how long? Do they even know? They seem to get further apart every day._

"No problem. Maggie's the one I've picked. Gonna ask her tonight, and the odds are in my favor that she'll agree."

The Solstice hummed and touched him gently once more. "I asked Prime for ya too, 'Bee. He said okay."

Jazz spoke up for him, Jazz still looked out for him, the same as he always did, and now, this. Bumblebee felt gratitude well up. _I can have more with them, there can be more._

 _I wish to stay with the boy._

 _If that is his choice._

 _Yes._

Quiet affirmation, but with a look of such promise, it sent a ripple of yearning through his spark.

Disappointment followed hard on the heels of gratitude, and Bumblebee would have hung his head were he not in his alt-mode. The frame of the yellow car seemed to sag just a little.

"I wish I could ask Sam, and Mikaela, but I can't, not now. Things are not well between them, Jazz. I don't know what to do."

The silver Solstice bobbed on its tires, the equivalent of a shrug. "Yer not obligated to help, not in that way."

"Sam's hurting," 'Bee said, "I can tell. Mikaela, too."

"Not much ya can do for 'em. They'll work it out for themselves or they won't. Best ta wait and let them sort it out, then you can ask."

He was right, but a vague sense of guilt persisted. "I feel like I'm letting them down, Jazz."

"Let it go, 'Bee."

Jazz's powerful engine core purred to life. The Solstice pulled ahead, out onto the road, and turned toward home. The Camaro followed slowly.

______________________________

 

When Ratchet's wordless inbound alert came across the comm, layered with a wealth of annoyance, aggravation, and anger of the fragged-off CMO variety, Ironhide's first inclination was to transform and head out for an early patrol. In the opposite direction.

His second inclination was to wait. The long drive from the Base to the Lennox property would serve to cool the medic down, and he got little enough company out here as it was.

The medic arrived, not as calm as hoped, and the news he brought earned him a long look from Ironhide.

"Are you insane?"

"I must be."

"And you cleared him for duty, too."

"Yes, but that was before I checked his sanity, or mine, and Prime must be equally insane for allowing it, so I'll have to check him, too, and what the slag are you doing to yourself anyway? Your systems are sluggish, you've got errors piling up, and you're still not regenerating as fast as you should be."

"I'm trying."

"Well, try harder, because I am _this close_ to breaking a datapad over that thick helm of yours."

Not only insane, but still in a very foul mood. Ironhide eyed the medic's twitching fingers and decided to change the subject.

"Since when do you make personal calls, anyway?"

Ratchet's systems snarled. "Since Prime developed a short attention span, a glitch in his processors, and a general failure to see the obvious."

Frag. If _that_ whole situation wasn't an explosion waiting to happen, Ironhide didn't know what a cannon was.

".... Have you checked on the Captain lately?"

The medical sensors reset and began another sweep. "Captain Lennox is no longer my concern. He has declined my requests to come in, and prefers to let his own medics see to him."

Ironhide grumbled, unhappy with the decision. Ratchet's scanners beeped as they picked up more anomalies and the medic's vents blew out air.

"You need to treat this as you would any battle that's gone to the Pit. Save who you can and leave the rest. The Captain and his mate are close to breaking their bond."

Every instinct in the black mech rose up in protest. "NO. I can't just stand by and watch!"

"Yes, you can!" the medic snapped back. A finger stabbed into Ironhide's chestplates. "You _cannot_ keep them together. Better to have them deal with the pain now and get it over with, then extend it and keep them suffering. It's difficult for them, but it doesn't last as long. They'll recover, and find other mates again."

Just because he was right, didn't mean Ironhide had to like it. The angry growl and pale optics had sent many a lesser mech ducking for cover, but Ratchet never faltered, continuing to monitor systems while he waited for Ironhide to collect himself.

It took longer than Ironhide liked, but Primus, everything was taking him longer these days. His thoughts circled back to Jazz again.

"So Jazz is really going to try that. I shouldn't be so surprised, since it's him."

"I'm more surprised that Prime agreed to Jazz's little pet project, given that his sympathies are all with the humans. He sees them as his personal responsibility now. He let Bumblebee go without even an attempt at a rescue for fear of hurting them. I think he'd risk all of us going to the same fate, if it meant saving the humans."

Pale optics narrowed on the medic.

"Prime has never been willing to risk _you_."

The slight catch of Ratchet's intakes was telling. Ironhide knew he scored a hit, and immediately regretted it.

"I'm sorry, that was uncalled for."

Ratchet bent to his task again. "It's true enough."

"Why did you come back, medic?"

"Because he asked me and I wanted to, and I thought after so long apart, that things would be different."

Ratchet straightened and passed a weary hand over his optics. "Sometimes I think I know him better than my own programming. Other times, I don't think I know him at all."

"It's the Matrix in him-"

"It's not the Matrix, it's _him_! He cares about everyone and everything and every single planet and species we've ever come across. He carries the guilt of the whole slagging universe around with him, he doesn't have a single selfish bolt in his frame, and Primus blast him to the Pit, but I wish that he did! Then I wouldn't have to fight so hard not to-" Ratchet's broke off abruptly, and just as suddenly, Ironhide put two and two together.

"It's starting again, isn't it."

Not a question, and Ratchet saw no point in denying the obvious. "I can stall it."

"Not forever, you can't."

"No." Air whispered out from Ratchet's vents. "Not forever."

He stilled under the hand laid on his shoulder and looked up to meet the black mech's sympathetic gaze. Ratchet acknowledged it with a low hum.

"Stubborn mech. I can't keep you together forever either. You put too much strain on your systems."

"You know how guardianships work."

"I know how they're _supposed_ to work with one of our own. That's not the case here. Take my advice and step back, Ironhide. Revoke your guardianship and adjust your programming. Let the Captain go. Take care of Sarah and her child. That's the best you can do. Now open your chestplates."

Just like that, they were back to business. Ironhide complied and tried not to twitch while Ratchet poked and prodded.

"Still feeling tired? How's your recharge cycle?"

"Yes, I'm still tired, recharge is slag and Jazz is really going to give this a try?" Ironhide wasn't sure why his processors kept belaboring the topic.

"Yes he is, and if he breaks any of the humans, I'll break him. How much energon are you consuming a day?"

"Three cubes, and Prime obviously hasn't given him enough to do, if he's got time to play with the humans."

"No argument there. Three should be plenty, the new module is functioning perfectly, why are your systems not regenerating faster?"

Ratchet poked something and Ironhide winced. "Ow, that hurt!"

"Shut it, you big sparkling."

"Fragger. So who'd Jazz pick, anyway?"

"Maggie Madsen."

Ironhide blinked. "The femme who screamed and ran away from Prime?"

"The same."

"Huh. Good luck with that."

Ratchet snorted.

_______________________

 

The two humans sat at the dining table of the small kitchen area. Mikaela was slumped in her seat, her head propped up in one hand. Maggie twirled a soda can around, deep in thought.

A groan broke the silence. “I think my brain is broken.”

Maggie summoned a weak chuckle. “I keep thinking mine’s on crack. It’s been one weird thing after another since I got here. This though…”

“Yeah, this. Wow. You and Jazz been spending any time together? Outside of work I mean.”

“Well, he’s offered to take me into town a few times. There wasn’t anything I really needed, but I said yes anyway, just because I love getting into him.“

Mikaela arched a brow and Maggie blushed. “I mean, getting into his car, riding in him… I mean, him as a car… when he’s a car I like riding him…”

Mikaela started to giggle and Maggie face palmed.

“Damn. I quit. I’m not talking for the rest of the day.”

Mikaela sat forward with a determined air. “Alright. Tell me what happened.”

“I just did.”

“Right, but it broke my brain. It’s better now, so tell me again what Jazz said, what you said--everything.”

“Mikaela, if I think about this too much longer, it may break _my_ brain.”

“There had to be some hint this was coming. Any candy, flowers, dinner and a movie, expensive jewelry?”

Maggie narrowed her eyes. “Not helping here. At all.”

“Hey, I'm trying! Just start from the beginning, exactly how it happened, and don’t leave anything out.”

“Fine. Here’s _exactly_ what happened.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I... what? You want me to… _what_?”

Maggie froze, her shocked gaze dropping from Jazz's face right down to the very large plate between his legs, her brain instantly conjuring up images of-

Oh god, did she just look at his- no, No, NO! His eyes, his eyes, focus on his eyes! Wait, not eyes, he had optics, covered with a visor, so she couldn't see his eyes, she needed to look at something else, somewhere else, anywhere else except his cro-

She tore her eyes away from that large plate once again, and swallowed hard, blushing hotly.

Jazz patiently repeated his request.

No, she hadn't heard wrong-- _oh my god, what?!_ \--and this was no shiny Rubik's cube, and no dream, and not even her brain on crack. This was _Jazz_. Giant Alien Robot _Jazz_ , and he was asking... asking her to...

Maggie’s gaze skittered once again over his frame-- _oh god, he must be at least 15 feet tall!_ \--darting from his face to his chest to his legs and finally landing on the pelvic plating at the juncture of his thighs. Again.

Her brain whimpered out a tiny little _eep_. Maggie could feel herself blushing right up to the roots of her hair. She dropped her eyes and looked at her hands instead. They appeared to be trying to twist together into a knot. How interesting.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"You didn't."

Mikaela watched Maggie bury her face in her folded arms.

"You did? You really looked at his...?

A muffled moan emerged. "... Yeah. I did."

"Well, so much for noticing the eyes first."

Maggie lifted her head to glare at the snickering girl. "Oh, like _you_ wouldn't have looked there, too!"

Mikaela raised her hands, still smirking. "Alright, sorry. So then what?"

Maggie sat up and pushed her hair back behind her ears. "I thought it was a joke, but he said he was completely serious. Then he told me a story."

"He- What?"

"He told me a story."

"Huh."

"...Yeah."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Speechless, overwhelmed, dumbfounded, staggered, and… and… Her brain stalled out, trying to come up with a suitable description for its current condition.

Some part of Jazz made a muffled, whirring sound, and she looked up to see his head tilt slightly.

“I’ve noticed ya watchin’ me, Maggie,” he remarked. Her jaw dropped; she could feel her face heat up again.

 _He didn't. Did he?_

 _He did. He caught you looking, admiring all that sleek silver armor, admiring_ him.

Now she could add completely mortified on top of being stunned. If Jazz had set out to embarrass her purposely, he was doing a great job, and that thought brought a little twinge of hurt along with it. She stared up at him for a long moment, searching for what this was all about, but that visor of his gave nothing back, not the slightest hint of what he was thinking or feeling, if he was being serious or-

Joke, it all had to be a joke.

"Oh. I- I get it now. That's a good one... really."

She couldn't quite keep the hurt out of her voice, and the silence afterwards was agonizing.

It was broken by soft clicks and a deep hum. They all did that, Mikaela told her, and the sounds meant something, but she couldn't seem to remember what. _And you call yourself a signals analyst._

"Maggie."

His voice slid smoothly across the confusion in her mind, along with another whirring sound. She looked up and Jazz was so close she could see seams and small gaps in his armor, could have reached out to touch the Autobot sigil on his chest, if she wanted. Close enough to touch his visor, trace the seam where his helm met and joined the smooth flexmetal of his face.

"Maggie..."

Jazz's visor flared with a blaze of colors, some of which she couldn't put a name to, swirling and moving so fast she could barely follow them.

"... I'm completely serious."

Her brain gave a little lurch. Then it whimpered, because if he was serious, then-

Oh. _Damn_.

"Why?"

She meant 'why me' but 'me' got lost along the way; her brain seemed to have curled up in a corner somewhere.

A soft sound from Jazz, along with a gentle puff of air across her face. He sat back and regarded her, a lazy smile on his mouthplates.

"If you landed on a new world, what's the first thing you would do?"

Maggie frowned, not expecting a question for an answer. "I suppose I would set out to explore or something."

"Exactly. And then what?"

"I guess, look for some signs of life, a civilization."

"And after that?"

"Try to make contact, maybe, if they seemed friendly."

Jazz beamed as though she'd passed a test with flying colors.

"Good, very good. Now let's add a little adventure into this picture, something unexpected. Two aliens from different worlds, both explorers travelin’ around the galaxy, and they both discover a new world, very strange. But then, somethin’ goes wrong.”

Jazz’s voice dropped low with suspense; Maggie chuckled.

"What goes wrong?"

"Oh, how about their ships glitch or somethin'."

"So they crash."

"Sure do, and the crash knocks out their engines, computers, communications-"

"-and they're stranded."

"Right again. They each set out from their ship and start to explore, lookin’ for other people." He paused, inclining his head to her. "And then?”

Maggie smiled. “They see each other?”

“They do. One of the aliens is really large, the other one is really small. They decide ta join forces and begin ta explore this new world together. And that’s when they discover somethin' altogether different.”

“What 's that?”

Jazz looked at her. “I don’t know yet, Maggie, but I can tell ya this. The little one is pretty scared at first, but the big one is nice and friendly. He likes her and she decides she likes him, too. What happens next is up to you."

 _Up to-_

 _Oh._

Maggie blushed all over again.

The silence was not agony this time, but time seemed to stretch while her breath came a little quicker, her heart beat a little faster, the air charged, and his question hovered, waiting on her answer.

Maggie's eyes slid over Jazz, his large form so still and quiet next to her, easily three times her size. Apprehension crept in; her mind balked.

As if triggered by some unseen cue, Jazz hummed once more. “We’ll take it slow, Maggie. We’ll go as slow as ya need ta.”

Distracted by that deep sound again, she struggled with a reply, trying to order her thoughts and failing completely.

“I… don’t… quite know what to say...” She trailed off unhappily, silently begging him not to push for an answer.

All the little clicks and that hum came to a stop, replaced by a sound like a small _whoosh_ of air from a vent.

“Don’t say anythin’ right now, just think about it, okay?”

His smile was still in place, but fading a little; the glow of his visor dimming, so unlike Jazz it brought a troubled frown to Maggie's face. She was about to ask, when she caught the movement of his hand.

She watched as he reached out, very slowly, slow enough for her brain to catch up and realize she could choose. Stop him, leave now, and that would be her answer-

-or seriously consider what he was proposing.

Jazz's hand hovered; Maggie didn't move.

“Ya don’t have ta answer right away. There’s no rush. Take all the time ya need.”

Even his voice sounded smaller, softer, a little unsure. The whole effect made him seem uncertain, and oddly vulnerable.

His finger touched her lightly, smoothing over her hands still gripped tightly together.

Large metallic hand and finger, a delicate, butterfly touch that was there and gone again, but the sensation remained on her skin, warm, gentle, and promising.

“Will ya think about it, Maggie?”

His finger touched her hand again, inviting her into the adventure of a lifetime.

She nodded. “All right, Jazz.” Her breath caught at the brilliant smile that matched the glow of his visor.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“So I told him I’d think about it,” Maggie finished, "and then he left."

“That was it?”

“Yeah, that was it.”

Mikaela propped her head on her hand. Maggie picked up her soda, stared at the metal can and put it back down again, frowning.

“He’s an alien, Mikaela, a big, metal alien. How can this possibly work?”

Mikaela looked thoughtful. “One sure way to find out.”

Maggie uttered a strangled gasp. “You are _really_ not helping.”

Mikaela laughed and stood up, stretching. "Sorry, I'm no help tonight. I'm tired and I have to be up early for Ratchet the slave driver, too. I'll see you for breakfast?"

Maggie rubbed her eyes and sighed, feeling the start of another headache. "Yeah, see you in the morning."

She climbed into bed a short time later, hoping for a deep, dreamless sleep, but of course that was too much to ask. Instead of shutting down sensibly, her poor overworked brain staged a full-on revolt.

Maggie's dreams that night were filled with images of Jazz transforming, and she was left staring at a perfect silver cube with no discernable markings, utterly blank and completely baffling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 _tbc_


	9. Chapter 8

 A/N: With a grateful nod to Dr. Who, 'The Doctor Dances,' and to my wonderful betas. Again as always, thank you! ♥

\--------------- 

****

**~Chapter 8~**

The battered black car pulled slowly into the abandoned garage, its engine coughing and sputtering, accompanied by a deeper noise that sounded very much like gagging or retching. Violent shudders wracked its frame several times. The car nosed behind stacks and piles of broken pallets and dusty boxes and debris, carefully arranged to hide its presence from the curious. The engine threatened to stall and another harsh cough was heard. A small amount of fuel dribbled out from under the car.

Barricade retched weakly again, and then clamped his fuel pump closed, determined to keep what remained inside. It was little enough that he’d managed to siphon off from a few cars without arousing too much suspicion. The fuel stations were off limits to him now. The humans had been alerted to the thefts and had taken measures to prevent any further losses.

He huddled in his hiding place, the human’s sorry excuse for fuel sitting inside, the taste still lingering, nauseating him. He had no means left to purify it, and his pump labored with the stuff. It crept its way slowly with an acid burn, fouling his systems and leaving him sickened. He coughed and choked again, wanting nothing more than to spew the contents out onto the ground. He clamped his lines shut again, waiting in wretched misery for his pump to finish emptying the filth into his systems.

He snarled in his guttural language as he felt the noisesome seep oozing through him. He cursed the Autobots, their human allies, this ball of rock he was stuck on, his commander for leaving him behind, alone and defenseless. He was locked into his alt-mode, helpless inside his damaged body, reduced to consuming garbage, a bottom feeder. The predator inside of him raged, wanting nothing more than to wreak havoc on his enemies. Enough, the cold voice of reason commanded. Anger was a waste of energy and he needed all of his energy to survive.

One last gasp from his pump and it was finally empty. Internal readouts spread data over his display. He had bought himself one more day’s time. One more day before he had to find more of this waste product the humans called fuel. Two more days, if he spent most of it in recharge. He shuddered at the thought. His dreams lately were as disturbing as his time on this rock had become.

\-------------------------------------- 

Ironhide watched his charge leave the house and cross the short stretch of grass to where he sat. Almost, not quite, not really his charge, according to Ratchet, and his systems gave a low, restless hum.

The Ranger looked up at him, brown eyes shadowed, his face drawn and tired, and the Guardian gave in to the urge and began to run scans. 

"About the party the other week. I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry." A hand scuffled through short, dark hair. "This whole situation is a frickin' mess. Not like you need me adding to it."

The words fell into silence that was part astonishment and part disbelief, before Ironhide finally stirred and nodded briefly. "Your apology is accepted, Captain Lennox." 

Lennox stared and then barked out a short laugh. "You're not going to go all Darth Vader and strangle me now, I hope." 

It was Ironhide's turn to stare, mystified. "Why would I do that?"

"Sarah's ready to," Lennox muttered darkly, then waved a hand. "It's from a movie, pop culture, never mind. I came out here to tell you I'm leaving in about two more weeks, and the rest of my time will be spent at base. This isn't a deployment, it's a transfer. I'll be stationed at the new base in Qatar, and I'm not bringing Sarah and the baby with me." 

Optic ridges drew down into a heavy frown, but he remained silent. Lennox had already said more to him in the last few minutes than he had in the last several months. His scans picked up sharp rises in heart rate, respiration, adrenaline. He smelled the pheromone spike in the air. The Ranger started to pace, his body tense, clearly angry.

"This isn't right, Ironhide. We have a common enemy. We should be joining forces, working together. Not trying to pin you guys down with treaties and restrictions and manipulating you into giving us your technology." 

He stopped and blew out a breath, his head dropping low, and now Ironhide's receptors picked up the scent of anxiety, and fear. "We shouldn't be going behind your back. Keeping secrets from you. I'm tired of it. They're putting our lives in danger, the lives of my men."

Lennox looked up at Ironhide. "I know I haven't been very cooperative, I know I haven't really accepted you being here. It wasn't my choice. My hands were tied and I couldn't say anything. But I'm sick of the politicians calling all the shots and yanking us around. Well, to hell with them. I know you don't have to tell me anything, but I'm asking you,  _as my Guardian_ , to help me." 

A hand raked through hair, and the look the human gave him was purely pleading. "I need to know everything you know about that drone we fought in the desert. Please, Ironhide. Tell me its weaknesses. Give me some advantage I can use to get my men home again."

That the humans were keeping secrets was hardly a revelation. Ironhide still had his doubts about them but he studied the human before him, impressed that he was willing to go against orders, to cross that line for the good of his troops, or for a common cause. Intelligent. Loyal. Brave. Daring enough to take on Blackout and live to tell about it, and by all accounts, the one most directly responsible for saving Bumblebee from Sector 7. Lennox was a soldier, someone he could accept and work with willingly. The bickering with his mate could almost be disregarded, when viewed in this light. Almost.

The mention of Skorponok had galvanized his battle AI, and numerous tactical displays were already feeding into his processors. The human regarded him steadily, looking more composed than Ironhide's sensors indicated. Hard to read the facial expression, but his heart was pounding, his pupils dilated, waiting for Ironhide's agreement. Or refusal.

Ironhide leaned forward, closer to the human, but not close enough to be intimidating, programming already altering with Lennox's acquiescence. 

"I had thought to revoke my claim but since you accept me, I will be your Guardian, William Lennox." The words triggered changes to core and programs, and his churning systems settled closer to a normal rhythm. It helped, somewhat, with the pain, the weariness. One down, one to go. The mech sighed, a small huff of air. "I will help, since I can't go with you to guard as I should."

Lennox paced closer. "I know. Politics really suck. Thanks, Ironhide." He flopped to the ground next to one leg, the relief on his face easily read. "Now. How do I kill that thing?"

Ironhide touched a finger to his helm and his holo array came online. Blue beams focused on a spot close to Lennox, and a 3-D rendering of Skorponok sprang to life, complete with metallic hissing, snapping claws and lashing, barbed tail.

His charge immediately scrambled to his feet, cursing. "Damn it! Warn a guy, would you?"

Ironhide's mouthplates twitched. "It can't hurt you, and Rule Number 1, soldier. Always be alert." 

Lennox leveled a glare at him, then shook his head, chuckling. "Bastard. Alright, show me." 

Ironhide rumbled a laugh and slowed the rendering to barely moving. The Ranger cautiously approached the hardlight holoform of the drone. Different points on the armor, primary and secondary targets, began to light up. "As a drone, Skorponok has limited intelligence. He's built and programmed for stealth and rapid strikes, not prolonged engagements."

Lennox snorted. "Yeah, we had plenty of being stalked by that thing. Damned terrorist tactics." He pointed to the head. "It's brighter lit than the others. That his weakest spot? Not under the chest armor?"

"Correct. The ambient heat will render infrared targeting ineffective. Skorponok will rely on his vision to track you above ground. Go for his optics when he shows himself."

The human slanted a glance over one shoulder. "Ironhide. It tracked us from  _below_ , under the sand, then jumped us. How the hell are we supposed to know it's even there?" He turned his head to continue studying the holoform. "It's the main reason I'm not bringing Sarah and Anna. There's no way I'm letting them on the same  _continent_  with this thing running around."

The statement caught Ironhide's attention, sounding as it did like the end of a long, long argument. "You've already told her?"

Lennox nodded and straightened, turning away from the drone to face his Guardian. Ironhide's receptors detected the trace of anxiety once more. "And that, is probably that. Think we were headed towards separating anyway. This is just a shortcut." The tone was an attempt at flatness, but underneath it, frustrated and hurt. Lennox began pacing again and Ironhide watched him silently.

"She doesn't understand why she can't come, it's just another transfer to her. I can't tell her why I don't want her with me, so I have to let her assume the worst. Another lie on top of lies and secrets and arguing with deaf, dumb and blind politicians and corralling rogue Sector 7 operatives; you guys here but not officially here, and I have to leave to hunt a drone and Barricade is still running around, and my marriage takes the hit for everything. Goddamnit, I'm  _tired_." 

Lennox stopped pacing to scrub his face with both hands before dropping them to his sides, shoulders slumping. "And here I am, telling you a whole lot of things you aren't supposed to know about. Faaantastic." 

Ironhide rumbled, disquieted and more than a little apprehensive about his charge leaving. Undertaking a mission with this level of exhaustion was ill-considered at best. At worst, deadly. "What you've told me, stays with me, Lennox. My word as your Guardian."

A short chuckle, but Lennox looked visibly relieved. "What happens in Vegas, hmm? Okay, Ironhide, what else can you teach me about killing a drone?"

An hour later, and Ironhide was satisfied that his charge had every advantage he could give him and even learned a few devious tricks along the way. Only one last thing needed.

"Get a hold of a few of those radiation detectors Sector 7 used. You'll be able to track Skorponok, even hiding under the sand."

Lennox's head whipped around. "Whaa? You know about those? Damn, 'Hide. Thought that got all covered up."

Sometime during the hour of intense drone killing lessons, his designation had devolved from 'Ironhide' to ''Hide,' and the Ranger seemed more energized than when they started. Ironhide snorted, amused. "We have our secrets too, Lennox."

"Will. Call me Will. I guess you do, mech. You're entitled to a few of your own." A smile of genuine humor and then his charge looked away, towards the house, and Ironhide watched the energy drain and weariness settle over him. "Wanna hear something stupid? She didn't tell me to come back safe, the way she always does. It's ridiculous, a soldier's superstition, I know, but- Every deployment, every mission, without fail, it's been her telling me to come back safe and me promising I'd come home. But not this time."

"'Hide-" Will's voice caught, and he cleared his throat, blinking up at his Guardian.

"Take care of them for me? Sarah- She's taking all this hard, and I don't- I can't- be here... to help, to make things- right...if they can ever be right again, and- I may not make it home... this time-" 

Lennox broke off. His gaze shifted to the house again, and Ironhide hummed, his voice a soft, deep rumble. "I'll take care of them, Will. While I live, I won't leave them." 

The Ranger nodded. "Thanks, for everything. Guess I'd better go grab my things and get back to base."

Ironhide watched Will walk away and disappear into the quiet house, leaving him with his own doubts unspoken. Until Sarah accepted him as Guardian, his help was limited.

\----------------------------------------- 

They were fighting again, and this time, it was the end. Mikaela stormed out of his alt-mode, slamming the door so hard it rattled his frame. She ran into the Base, crying, and Sam let her go, but his fists were clenched and tears stood out in his eyes, the shine reflecting back from the lights of the dash. 

Any moment, Sam would start hitting him. Bumblebee knew it, he could feel it. He would pound out his frustration on the seat or the door, and then when he was calmer, he would turn to him. Sam would talk, and Bumblebee would listen, letting his energy field flicker around his charge in tiny comforting pulses. It was those times he felt closest to Sam, felt a connection, could almost swear that Sam felt it too.

Sam sat inside of Bumblebee with those tear-filled eyes, tense and not talking, only his fingers moving, scratching and scratching at the glyph marks on his hands.

He got out of the car, and walked over to a tree. Bumblebee read his intent a fraction of a second too late. He transformed at a frantic pace, but before he could reach out, Sam slammed his fist into the tree trunk. Bumblebee saw him wince, heard the crack of bones. He pulled Sam back from the tree, grasped his wrist delicately between forefinger and thumb, and ran his scanners over the broken bones.

"It's okay, 'Bee, I'm fine."

Bumblebee didn't believe him, he knew what he heard, but his scanners didn't lie. Flesh bruised, some contusions, but no broken bones. Sam smiled, and for a fraction of a nanosecond, it wasn't Sam. Something not-Sam was there, behind Sam's eyes, looking up at him. There and gone, a flash of something that shouldn't be there, and Bumblebee ran the visual file again, disturbed. Just Sam, just a smile, nothing out of the ordinary, and Bumblebee wondered if he saw anything at all, and maybe he misheard the cracking of bones too. Maybe his worry over Sam was making him imagine the worst.

Bumblebee still had a hold of Sam's wrist and his scanners were still not detecting anything more serious than bruising. "Maybe Ratchet should look at this."

"No!" Sam yanked his hand away. "There's nothing wrong."

One of Bumblebee's hands landed on the ground next to him with a soft thud. Vents cycled a long exhalation. "If Ironhide were your Guardian...

"I'm just as happy he's not, or I'd already be flat on my back on Ratchet's exam table with both cannons pointed at me." 

Bumblebee huffed a laugh and Sam grinned and reached out to thump plating. "You worry too much. I'm fine." 

Sam's fist never connected. The Autobot's helm tilted, watching as Sam checked himself, his hand hovering, then cautiously drew back from metal plating. He looked strangely relieved and Bumblebee warbled concern. Sam only shrugged.

"Give it a rest, 'Bee? Please? It's not like I'm the first guy on Earth that's ever lost his girlfriend."  _Just the only girl I ever wanted_. "I'll live."

"Are you ready to go in?" 

"I kind of don't want to go in yet."  _Run away, away from Base, away from his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend..._ "Can we go for a drive?"

Bumblebee tactfully ignored the fact that they had just been for a drive. "Of course, Sam."

"Great."  _Don't think about anything, distract yourself, avoid, run away..._ "Afterwards, we could play a video game or something."

Bumblebee's optics half-shuttered in a smirking look. "I'll let you beat me this time."

He transformed and Sam slid in behind the wheel.

"Hey, I would have won last time, but that wireless in your head is faster than my controller."

The Camaro headed for the gate, an amused hum filled the interior. "It's not my fault they don't make controllers in my size."

"Well, you should slow it down or something." 

_He could do this, he could manage. Focus on school, focus on 'Bee, run faster..._

He scratched absently at the glyphs on his hands as they left the Base, still amiably bickering.

\----------------------------------- 

"Coffee," Maggie muttered to herself. "How can we be out of coffee?" She pushed aside sweeteners, creamers, knocking a few items off to bounce down to the counter. A few tins of tea and chocolate, even one of caro, followed, until her fingers hit the back of the third cabinet she had searched and came up empty handed once again.

"Damn!" 

For the last 2 weeks, Maggie had worked, not slept, worked, and not slept more. Like a terrier with a rat, her restless mind nagged and picked and worried at Jazz's proposal, setting up countless scenarios, most of them with disastrous consequences. 

Her lip curled the tiniest bit, wishing she could avoid the comparison, what Jazz wanted from her, but this was hardly the first time she'd been propositioned. Only the fact that he was an alien made of metal-- _oh and big enough to crush you flat, let's not forget that_ \--made this any different.

Maggie pulled one of the kitchen chairs over and climbed up, beginning the coffee hunt through the higher set of cabinets. The chair wobbled and she gripped one of the shelves to steady herself. She glared at the chair, blew out a breath, and started digging through the cabinet.

Alright, if she were perfectly honest, there was something more to all of this. It was subtle, but enough to put Jazz in a completely new category. And that was the worrisome part. Saying 'no' to him would have been easy, but for that.

She pulled out yet another container of sugar and rolled her eyes. The soldiers that came and went on occasion seemed to require a lot of sugar, and it was likely the damn soldiers that drank up all the coffee, too. She dropped the box to the counter and continued her hunt. 

To place herself willing into his hands, his very large and very alien hands, was at once a thrilling and frightening thought, she had to admit. Jazz was a huge, metalloid creature hundreds of times stronger, and millions, maybe billions, of years older. His hands could rip through metal, could crush her without a thought, and yet… and yet… There had been something so  _vulnerable_  in his asking, a longing for something that he didn’t have, but was sure she possessed, and he was asking her to share it with him. And the undercurrents of his asking…  _please, don’t say no, don’t leave me empty-handed, I need this, please._

It moved her beyond words but it was also troubling, that this very large, very powerful being needed anything at all from the likes of her. If he and his race had come to Earth only a few hundred years earlier, they would have been worshipped as gods by the small and insignificant scurrying little creatures known as homo sapiens. What toll had time taken on him? What had their war done to him, that he would seek her out and ask her cooperation, her so small and weak and alien, to accomplish something that meant so much to him?

Maggie stared at the back wall of the upper cabinet before letting her head thunk forward onto the door. No coffee. She was going to be facedown into her keyboard before she finished for the night. 

That Jazz had even asked her was astounding, and humbling. What he had asked her… that was almost beyond her ability to comprehend. He wanted to touch her, to explore and learn everything about her, and she would learn about him too, and in the end… he would take her. It filled her with confusion and excitement and not a little fear; it struck her dumb in his presence. The hot blush of her cheeks, her gaze sliding down and away from his cool, visored regard that was somehow hopeful too, was the only answer she could give him for days on end.

Her heels slipped on the plastic seat as she shifted position to search another cabinet. Maggie grabbed for the door.  _Stupid, stupid, who wears high heels to climb on chairs?_ She wobbled a little, trying to regain her balance-

-and gasped when her back pressed up against a wall. In the middle of the kitchen.

The wall moved. Something warm slid around her waist and she looked down to see large metalloid fingers. "Need some help?" A deep chuckle met her ears and Maggie uttered a mortified little groan.

"...Oh. Hi, Jazz."

"Hi, Maggie. You lookin' for somethin' or just cleanin' out the cabinets?" Jazz's voice held an undertone of playfulness that reached right through the embarrassment and tugged a reluctant smile from her.

"I think we're out of coffee. I've checked every shelf except that one." Maggie pointed to the last high shelf, sneaking a quick peek up at him. He was utterly fascinating to watch up close like this. Jazz reached and plucked out a single bag and held it out for her inspection.

"This good?"

"Damn. No, it's decaf. I need caffeine."

Jazz was about to offer to drive her somewhere to get more, when Mikaela stormed past the door. Maggie slid away from his hand and stepped off the chair, hurrying to follow the other girl into the rec room.

“Mikaela, what-?”

“We broke up,” Mikaela sobbed. 

Maggie put an arm around her and led her over to one of the couches. “I’m sorry,” she offered. “Are you okay?”

Mikaela's words were coming out all in a rush, between more sobs and putting her head down and crying. “I knew it was coming. So did Sam. Who knew discovering an alien race would drive us apart instead of bringing us closer?” 

Jazz would have thought she was attempting a joke, but it came out on a wail, and Mikaela put her head down and cried even harder.

Maggie kept patting her shoulder, awkwardly. Jazz was reminded of just how very little time had passed since Maggie arrived, and impressed all over again with how well she had adjusted, considering the very odd circumstances. 

The young engineer-in-training talked and cried, and the young analyst listened and comforted, and Jazz studied them both from across the room, absorbing, processing. Having watched the slow unraveling of Sam and Mikaela's relationship, he now sat, knowing already that nothing could have been done that would have changed the outcome--his behavioral algorithms had all pointed to that conclusion--yet fascinated at the dissection of how things went wrong and why, and what could have, should have been done differently.

It was the talking itself that helped, Jazz decided, as the post-mortem wound down, Mikaela finally dabbing her eyes dry and squeezing Maggie's hand. 

“I’ll live. There's still school to finish up. Ratchet keeps me busy, I’ve got you to talk to, I’ll be fine. Sam’s got Bumblebee, he’ll be fine.”

Comparisons were inevitable and Jazz wasn't unaware of the fact that Maggie kept glancing his way as Mikaela talked and cried and mourned the end of her relationship. 

Jazz didn't know how humans did it, not having instant access to AI's and processors and logic circuits to help predict outcomes, but he had to admit that sometimes it was the illogic of faith that trumped all that an advanced alien race could bring to bear, and hope that kept them going in spite of the odds against them, and that in the end it all came down to one simple question.

He saw Maggie's glance again, then her head tipped close to Mikaela's and under the guise of a hug, heard her whisper, "Was it worth it?"

Mikaela's smile was watery, but she never hesitated. "I'd get in that car again with him in an instant. I mean, in Bumblebee."

Maggie hugged her again, murmuring a quiet, "Good, I'm glad," and Jazz found himself cautiously optimistic. The positives outweighed the negatives, and fascination was its own compelling reason for her to agree.

Mikaela said her good nights to them both and Maggie walked with her to her quarters. Jazz stayed, sifting through this most recent data, processing, analyzing and adding to his knowledge of humans. The internet was a vast store of information, but there was nothing so valuable as personal observation.

He wasn't surprised when Maggie sought him out later, but he found himself wanting to back away from her question. Jazz didn't trust easily, he freely admitted, and that part of him that he kept closed away from everyone, that kept secrets buried, skeletons tucked away in closets as the humans said, demanded he keep his motives hidden. Yet he desperately wanted her to agree to this. He could make this about feelings and attraction, he could lie if he had to, tell her what she wanted to hear, make her believe him, he was good at that, trained for it, it was part of what he  _did_ -

He put a stop to his runaway thoughts and regarded the femme.  _Why? Why do this?_ she had asked, and Maggie blurted out the truth a little too often not to value it in others. 

"Curiosity," he told her, and at the doubtful arch of a brow, he laughed. "No, it really is that simple. And that complicated." 

He leaned closer, the colors swirled through his visor and became translucent, letting her see his optics. 

"Think of it, Maggie. It's already in your books, your movies, your culture. Your people dream about it, imaginin' what it would be like ta explore other worlds and in a couple hundred years, humans'll be out there. You'll be roamin' the stars, interactin' with other species, and the one thing that drives y'all on is curiosity. Ta know, ta find out what it would be like ta be with someone that looks different, acts different, thinks different. Ta take a new kind of partner out and dance with 'em.

"It's a chance for me too, Maggie. I have the same fascination, the same need ta know. It's why I'm askin' ya ta be my partner. We have that chance way ahead of everyone else, startin' here and now." 

"So." Jazz held his hand out to the little femme. "Wanna dance?"

Maggie watched him carefully, her gaze flickering between the translucent visor and his hand. He was right, she was curious, maybe too much for her own good, but still.

“... You said- we’d go slow.”  _His eyes, they're beautiful._

“Maggie, we’ll go so slow, they’ll have ta invent a whole new definition of slow, just for us.”

The corner of her mouth quirked with a little smile. If she was really going to do this,  _really_ , she couldn’t imagine a better partner than Jazz, with that smile that said he was sharing a secret with her, that playfulness, and his air of lazy assurance.

It was the chance of a lifetime and she would never, ever, have it again. 

Maggie took a deep breath, and then exhaled, very slowly. 

She reached out to touch him, first the tip of one finger, then the finger pad, then further down, her own fingers slipping lightly over his smooth metalloid skin. A slight quiver, a tentative touch, and her fingers uncurled slowly to spread out against his palm, her hand coming to rest lying softly within his. 

Jazz curled his thumb in to stroke lightly over the back of her hand. He felt that small quiver again, heard the quick indrawn breath as he touched her, then a slow and gentle sigh. 

"Yeah, Jazz," Maggie said softly, "let's... dance."

\------------------------------------- 

**Sarah’s Journal**

**April**

I was so upset and angry and hurt when Will told me he didn't want me with him in Qatar. I've always gone with him, every transfer, every move, all over the world, but not this time. We argued, I mean really really argued. I scrambled for every reason I could think of for going with him. It's just a transfer, that's what he said, and it's not like I'll be right there in the warzone, so why shouldn't I be going with him?

He had no good reason. At all. And that's when the horrid suspicion began sneaking its way in. He just kept saying he didn't want me to, but he wouldn't say why, and what was I supposed to believe except, he doesn't want  _me_? I started crying, and god I hate when I do that, but I couldn't help it, it was too much for me right then. 

When I finally calmed down, I said yes, okay, fine, whatever he wanted. What else could I do? Will's mind was already made up and I have no say in this. So he'll be over there for 2 years and I'll be half a world away from him. It hurt too much to tell him to come back, like I always do before he leaves, because damnit, I should be going with him, not staying behind. 

Is it all over? Our marriage? I don't know and even if it is, I can't bring myself to admit it and neither can Will. Maybe not over, but on hold, in limbo. 

And it  _hurts_. Everything hurts so damn bad I could scream these walls down and still keep on, and I'm so tired I can't even think straight.

I wish now I had told him to come back to me. Asked him to please come back, because I'm not sure of anything with him anymore. 

But... what if I asked him and he really doesn't  _want_  to come back to me? 

I'm not sure what would have been worse, him lying to make me feel better or dead silence.

**-o-o-o-**

Something strange happened, after Will left. Annabelle was playing with her toys, I was doing the dishes, still upset. I must have forgotten to lock the screen door, because one minute she was right behind me, and the next, she was gone. I raced out to the porch and looked wildly around.

Ironhide was walking towards me with his hand held up in front of him. My heart leaped into my throat. Annabelle. He had Annabelle  _in his hand_.

He stopped a few yards away from me and set her on the ground. Annabelle turned around and began climbing on his foot.

Ironhide made a sound like a rush of air, and picked her up. “Your mother will bolt you down if you don’t stop this, little one. Now stay put and behave.” 

I could hear Annabelle’s giggles as he brought her closer to me, and set her down again. He didn’t move away, didn’t give me any space like he usually does, but I was too frantic to care. I ran forward and grabbed my daughter, who was busily trying to climb up on his foot again. I backed away with Annabelle in my arms. Ironhide lowered himself to the ground and sat.

“Sarah,” Ironhide said. “I’m your guardian. If you’re ever going to trust me, now would be a good time to start.”

I didn’t know what to say. I heard that sound again, like a huff or a sigh of air. I looked up at him, and it was like I was seeing him for the first time. He looked tired. I don’t know why I thought that, but he did. He looked as tired as I felt.

Annabelle leaned out of my arms and towards Ironhide, reaching out to him. Ironhide lifted his hand to her, looked at me, and dropped it.

He could have ignored me, he could have just taken Annabelle, but he didn’t. I drew a line and set a boundary that first time he came close to her, and never once had he crossed it.

We looked at each other. He lifted a brow ridge and I bit my lip. He was right, I knew he was, and it seemed he wasn’t going away anytime soon. He was our guardian, and if I was ever going to start trusting him, now was the time.

I put Annabelle down on the ground again, balancing her on her feet. “Go on,” I said, “go see Ironhide.”

Annabelle gave a happy shriek and wobbled a few steps towards him, then lost her balance. She crawled the rest of the way, giggling when she reached his foot and started climbing again. Ironhide placed his hand behind her, ready to catch her if she fell. 

I came quite a bit closer than I usually did, and took a seat on the ground near Ironhide. I watched my daughter climb around on that enormous metal foot of his, and heard that deep, throbbing sound again; the air vibrated around me.

I’m not sure, but I think, maybe, he was happy.

__

_tbc_  
  


 

 


	10. Chapter 9

Ironhide straightened from his task of building an obstacle course next to the Base target range, turning to watch the Hummer bringing Sarah and Annabelle to him.  May had come, taking the Captain away, and he knew Sarah was hurting.  She had lost a battle, and defeat was never an easy thing to accept.  It was painful to watch her not eat and not sleep or sleep too much.  She tired too easily.  Some days she could barely drag herself through taking care of her child.

Sarah had grown accustomed to bringing Annabelle out to him each day, the child clamored for him when she didn't.  Ironhide noted the slight accommodation his energy field was making to the child's presence as she climbed around his foot or sat in his hand and hummed and babbled to him.  Bioenergy fields emitted by organics weren't nearly as strong as their own, but they still registered, and his field adjusted accordingly.  He regretted the lack of time with the Captain, the same changes would have taken place with him, allowing the Guardian to keep better track of his human charge.

Sarah herself remained aloof.  She accepted his presence, but not his Guardianship.  She was sitting closer to him, once she had even fallen asleep next to him, but the few times he had held his hand out to her she had regarded him with wide and wary eyes and taken a careful step back.  Ironhide had withdrawn, puzzling over her behavior. 

Trust remained the biggest stumbling block between them, and the Guardian could see no easy way around that.  The best he could do was extend his energy field and let it wrap around her as she sat watching her daughter play.  She never seemed to notice, but he persisted, hoping there was some small comfort she could derive from it, and it was, for him, a way to make a connection with her.

 **::** Don't push, Ironhide, let her come to you. **::**   Ratchet advised, observing Sarah as she got out of his cab and brought Annabelle over to him.

 **::** Gotta give her some time, mech. She's been hurt, and she's not gonna trust ya too easily. **::**   Jazz chimed in from several yards away, where he was teaching Maggie how to shoot.

 **::** I am not pushing her.  I am aware that she's been hurt, **::** the weapons specialist replied with the exaggerated patience that warned of someone about to become a target, if they persisted in annoying him with the obvious.

Ironhide lowered himself to sitting with a small grunt and stretched his hand out on the ground next to his charges.  Ratchet watched as Sarah placed Annabelle into his hand, and waited for the usual step back, the setting of boundaries once again between herself and her would-be Guardian, a major source of frustration and the continued snarl and tangling of Ironhide's systems' functions.

To his surprise, Sarah stayed. 

 **::** Ironhide, don't move. **::** Ratchet ordered.  The mech in question gave him the electronic equivalent of a snort. 

 **::** I've got optics, medic. **::**

Indeed he did, and they were currently fixed on Annabelle in his hand, while his scanners were riveted on her mother.  Ironhide had finally realized that looking directly at Sarah seemed to unnerve her, so he kept his gaze on her child, only occasionally glancing at Sarah, letting receptors and scans monitor her.

Jazz pinged Ratchet, an interested observer as always.

 **::** Progress? **::**

 **::** Maybe. **::** The medic replied, but he was quietly hopeful as Sarah not only stayed, but leaned over Ironhide's thumb to stroke gently over her daughter's hair.  She left off when the child moved out of reach, but she still did not back away.  As mild as the temperature was, Sarah shivered with the afternoon breeze and stayed close to Ironhide with her hand on the plates of his thumb.  She seemed entirely unaware of what she was doing, completely absorbed in her daughter.

The medic's infrared scans detected the increase of heat as Ironhide warmed his hand for Sarah's comfort, but he remained unmoving, other than delicately shifting his fingers to contain Annabelle's explorations, and Ratchet could only admire him in that moment.  Ironhide was naturally aware of his size, but his control with such a tiny being was superb in the way only a Guardian completely obsessed with the safety of his charge could be.

His focus switched to Sarah again, the Hummer's engine muttering unhappily at the study in contrast between the exuberant, energetic child and her mother.  Sarah was too pale, looking worn out and defeated and utterly fragile next to the large gray hand of the massive mech beside her.  She swayed in the slight breeze and her other hand came up to grip Ironhide's plates.  Too pale, too thin, and his concern mirrored Ironhide's.  Ratchet's audials picked up the sound of the deep hum, his sensors monitored the soothing flickers of Ironhide's energy field as it surrounded the femme, all he could offer by way of comfort.

A short muffled _bang,_ followed by a peal of laughter from Maggie and a deeper one from Jazz, had Sarah startle and take a tighter grip on the plating of Ironhide's thumb, looking up and over to where the silver mech knelt next to the girl.

"Oh god, that was just awful. I missed that by a mile!"

"Nah, that was better than the last one, only half a mile this time. Try it again."

A little glimmer of emotion showed in the wan features, a hint of curiosity and puzzlement as Sarah observed Jazz hover over the girl, his fingers curling around Maggie's waist to steady her from the recoil of the weapon.

"Is Jazz her guardian?" Sarah asked, to no one in particular it seemed, but Ratchet began to answer anyway, until a low growl through his comm alerted him.

 **::** Don't tell her what's going on with those two. **::**   

At the same time, he heard Ironhide rumble softly to her, "He's teaching her, Sarah, they're friends," then the mech was pinning him with a warning glare.

 **::** It would be more than she can handle right now. **::**

 **::** I'm not an idiot:: the medic huffed.  **::** I wasn't going to tell her. **::**

Sarah continued watching the pair, but her head inclined towards Ironhide as he spoke to her. 

"Oh," was all she replied, but her palms smoothed over Ironhide's metalloid skin, and the medic wondered if perhaps she wasn't taking some comfort in the contact after all.

Jazz lowered his head to say something to Maggie and the girl smiled up at him, her cheek brushing against the large silver finger touching soft blonde hair.  Ironhide's optic ridges drew into a frown at the pair.

 **::** Thought you were teaching her to shoot.  And you still need to test the perimeter security. **::**

 **::** I _am_ teachin' her, nothin' wrong with buildin' up her confidence while I do it. **::** came the saboteur's laughing reply.  **::** Check your grid there, 'Hide, I've poked holes in three different spots already. **::**

The weapons specialist grumbled annoyance, and Annabelle paused in her play to look up, humming a soft little note.  Ironhide looked down, rumbling a deeper note, and Sarah reached for her and lifted her, finally looking up at Ironhide directly.

"Should we meet you back inside?  I left her snack in the kitchen.  She'll be getting hungry soon."

Annabelle burst into animated chattering just then, laughing and pointing to where a large flamed Peterbilt and a small yellow Camaro were leaving dust trails as they approached the target range.

"I can take you," Ironhide replied, and rose to his feet as they arrived.  Sam climbed out of his Autobot, and Mikaela jumped down from Prime's cab and headed for Ratchet.  Neither of them looked at each other. 

Prime and Bumblebee transformed.  Bumblebee wavered, looking indecisively between the two humans, until Mikaela took pity on him and blew him a kiss and made a little shooing motion at him.  His optics half-shuttered in a smile for the girl, and he nodded and turned away to follow Sam.

And that was another problem right there, Ratchet thought, watching the boy flash his Guardian a grin and thump Bumblebee's armor, then pick up a rifle at his direction and begin to inspect it.  The boy was beginning to handle weapons with a practiced ease that might have made Captain Lennox or any of the other soldiers take notice. 

Mikaela leaned against Ratchet's door to watch Maggie and Jazz, a faintly wistful expression crossing her features.

"They look good together, don't they? I mean, Maggie's a lot more relaxed with him."

Ratchet was noncommittal, focused as he still was on the trio before him.

"Mmm.  If only Jazz could pass along whatever he's doing to Ironhide.  That would help immensely."

Mikaela turned to look over at them.  "Oh?  That's still a mess?"

"Maybe not as bad as it was.  Claiming the Captain helped, but it's still not an ideal situation.  Sarah could use some encouragement in accepting Ironhide as her Guardian."

Or perhaps just having Prime around would be encouragement enough, he thought wryly.  He recognized the look of awe tinged with fear on Sarah's face as Prime approached Ironhide.  The femme had seen Optimus a mere handful of times, compared to the other humans who lived at the Base and the soldiers who came and went.  Faced with a choice between the enormous and intimidating leader of the Autobots before her and the smaller yet arguably even more intimidating black mech behind her, Sarah chose Ironhide, slowly backing a few steps until she was within his shadow and standing close to his leg.

Her movements had not gone unnoticed, and Ratchet watched Prime slow his approach and Ironhide lift an optic ridge as Sarah came to a stop almost beneath him.  Beside the Hummer, Mikaela murmured, "Is anyone else thinking 'King Kong'?"

The Hummer blew an amused snort of air.  "Progress is progress."

If progress between Sarah and Ironhide could be measured in the tiniest of increments, then the progress with Jazz and Maggie was nothing short of prodigious leaps.  Somehow he had gained her trust enough to agree to his bizarre idea, and the familiarity between the two argued for a lot of time spent together.

Which was due to be cut short if Prime had come with the news Ratchet suspected.

*~*~*~*

"We have a potential site," Prime announced to his team assembled in the Rec Room.  He passed a datapad to Jazz, looking both pleased and relieved.  "A small mountain over to the west.  There are no inhabitants.  We can begin excavations unobserved."

Jazz's whistle was impressed.  "That's a lot of area, Optimus."

Ironhide grunted.  "With no treaty, they're not just going to give us a mountain."

Prime smiled.  "No, they wouldn't.  This however, already belongs to us.  It's part of this Base.  According to the aerial survey, the territory claimed by the military stretches to the mountain range to the west of us, and encompasses a portion of it, including that site."

Jazz passed the datapad to Ironhide and the weapons specialist looked it over.  "Hmph.  No blasting?"

"No blasting," Prime confirmed.  "We can't cover that up."

There was a small disappointed sound from Ironhide.  "Alright.  I can melt the rock instead."

"Good."  Prime nodded.  "Jazz, I'll need you to hack the satellite surveillance and keep our activities unnoticed."

"Got it covered, boss," the silver Autobot readily agreed, a teasing grin aimed at the large black mech.  "Sorry, no explosions for you today, 'Hide.'

Ironhide merely arched an optic ridge, a chuckle vibrating through his chestplates.  "The day's not over yet, Jazz." 

Under the guise of studying the datapad, he flashed Jazz images of a room, a berth, and a small silver mech who tossed his helm back and moaned beneath a much larger black one, chestplates spread wide and brilliant blue light between them as they pressed together, spark to spark.  Ironhide's keen optics didn't miss the small shiver that went through the silver saboteur.

 **::** Haven't forgotten, I see. **::**

 **::** Nah.  Be hard ta do that with you, old mech. **::**

 **::** Did I tell you how glad I was when you came back to us? **::**

 **::** Yeah, ya did.  Ya also told me ya'd blast me back ta Primus yourself, if I ever made the mistake of takin' on Megatron again. **::**

 **::** Good.  Don't forget that either, Jazz. **::**

Jazz smirked fondly up at the massive weapons specialist.  **::** I won't. **::**

__

Ironhide rumbled softly, then passed the datapad to Bumblebee and turned his attention back to Prime.  "When do you want the drones brought down?"

"As soon as Jazz has scouted a suitable location.  Stagger the landings and make it look natural, a few scattered meteorite hits here and there, drop them in the ocean if you have to.  I want to avoid any possible detection."

Another datapad was pulled from the Prime's subspace and passed to Ratchet.  "Here's a survey that was done in that region.  There's a wealth of mineral deposits, but buried too deeply to make it worth the humans' efforts to recover.  Once Ironhide gets in, you can obtain all the fresh materials you need to replenish armor and weapons."

"That can't come soon enough, Optimus, we're low on just about everything," Ratchet cautioned.

"Which brings me to my next assignments.  Bumblebee, how close is the nearest cache of supplies?"

"Approximately two days, staying within the human speed limits."

Ironhide immediately objected.  "Absent from the Base that long, you know they'll track you, Bumblebee."

The yellow mech's optics half-shuttered in a smile.  "Not if I have a good reason to be gone.  I take Sam wherever he wants to go, including a camping trip near the beach, which just happens to be close to our cache."

Jazz's voice chimed in over his comm.  **::** And get some alone time with him, too.  Smooth, 'Bee, very smooth. **::**

Bumblebebee rolled his optics.  **::** He has a friend coming, Jazz. **::**

 **::** Chaperone, awww.  Too bad. **::**   Jazz quirked a grin and Bumblebee huffed laughter, well aware that Jazz was keeping tabs on him, and entirely pleased that Sam had been spending more time with him since his breakup with Mikaela.

Prime held up one more datapad.  "Ironhide, I want you to initiate a training program with some of the troops from the neighboring Base.  I've spoken with the C.O., he has several teams of their elite Ranger corps ready to begin when you are."

"No."  The rumble this time sounded more like a growl, and the pleasant camaraderie vanished, the other mechs turning watchful in an instant.  Ironhide's temper was notorious these days, and Prime glanced to his medic.

 **::** Ratchet?  Is he...? **::**

 **::** You'll see the glow of his cannons when I do, Optimus. **::**

 **::** He wouldn't, not near the humans. **::**

 **::** Probably not, and certainly not near Sarah. **::**

 **::** That's a relief. **::**

 **::** All the same, tread carefully, Optimus. He's not in the best of moods lately. **::**

 **::** You don't say. **::**

Ratchet's mouthplates twitched at Optimus' faint snort.

The Prime slowly straightened, optics locked on the black mech.  "Why not?"

Ironhide matched him, stare for stare.  "They aren't our allies."

"That may be, but they still need our help."

"Not my problem."

"Do I need to make this an order, Ironhide?" 

Ironhide folded his arms, optics narrowing on Prime. "If you did, I would still have to refuse."

A flick of optics over at the others, and Jazz rose, pushing Bumblebee ahead of him, followed by Ratchet, leaving the two to settle their differences privately. 

Prime inclined his head back to Ironhide, puzzled at the stubborn stance of the old warrior. 

"Very well, but please explain."

Ironhide regarded him steadily.

"What would you have me do, Prime?  Teach the soldiers how to kill us all?  A few already know of our weaknesses.  I won't add to their knowledge or show them how to do it better and faster."

"They need help to survive against the Decepticons.  You will not work with them?"

Ironhide shook his helm, all too mindful of what Lennox had told him.  "No, I will not.  Not until they are solidly on our side, as our allies."

He knew Ironhide well enough to know that on this point, a matter of their own survival and protection, the black mech would not concede.  Prime sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose plates, finally nodding over to the humans.  "And what of them, and your charges?  They'll die without us to help them."

Ironhide glanced to the small kitchen area and the gathered humans, his gaze lingering on Sarah before returning to lock optics with the Prime.

"They can't hurt us, they aren't soldiers.  I could train them to be survivors, but to what end?"

A part of him protested the futility of even that much.  Ironhide knew their chances and the odds against them, and Sarah, with the addition of a young one in her care, stood no chance at all.  None, and he would have to watch those he cared for die.  Again. 

His fists clenched, optics shuttering tightly as the tremor worked its way through his core, the pain deep and twisting cruelly.  One cannon whined as his control slipped, and then into the maelstrom of anger and doubt, disillusion and bitter loss their war had wrought came Optimus' voice, just as it had before.

 ** _::_ ** _There is always hope, Ironhide, always a chance as long as there is life.  For what other reason are you here, why agree to Guardian again, if not to give them that chance? **::**_

 ** _::_ ** _...You don't give up, do you? **::**_

 ** _::_ ** _Not often, old friend, and with you, never.  You'll fight to the last pulse of your spark, Ironhide, I have no doubts about that. **::**_

 ** _::_** _I'm tired, Optimus... **::**   _Painand weariness right to his very spark, and he felt Prime move close, his energy field wrapping warmly around him, deep tones of comfort and encouragement soothing across his processors.

 ** _::_ ** _Focus on Sarah.  She needs you now. **::**_

Prime's field lingered, long enough for Ironhide to regain control, lock his errant cannon down and force the pain aside.  Optics flickered in silent thanks, and he turned to watch Sarah and her child again.

Her bioenergy field was weak, but still strong enough for his scanners to detect.  And for his weapons to target and lock on.  Running was only going to get them so far.  His battle AI actively engaged, and everything else faded under the steady flow of tactics and strategies, battle plans and types of weaponry, offensive and defensive, and suitable for organics.

The weapons specialist hummed thoughtfully, a plan beginning to form.  "Very well, I'll train them, but I want Ratchet's help.  I have an idea how to level the battle field and even the odds against them."

*~*~*~*

They had gathered in the kitchen area of the large Rec Room, the humans going about their lunch routine, but casting curious looks at the mechs speaking in their alien language.

"Whales humping modems," Maggie muttered, to Mikaela's snickers and Sam's muffled guffaw.  Even Sarah had a small smile tugging the corners of her mouth as she watched her daughter.

Sam and Mikaela were still studiously trying to avoid each other, with some effort in the small area, and Mikaela finally gave up and brought her lunch over to sit near Sarah.

Annabelle chortled, happily chasing down little cereal circles spread out in front of her and humming whenever her eyes strayed over to Ironhide.

Mikaela perked at the sound.  "That hum, you know that's a kind of language for them?"

Sarah raised surprised eyes to Mikaela, then looked from Annabelle over to Ironhide. 

"I had no idea."

"You should ask him what he says to her, the next time you two talk."

The black mech chose that moment to look their way and Sarah and Ironhide gazed at each other for a long moment.  Sarah dropped her eyes first, a troubled expression crossing her features.

"We don't really talk."

Mikaela frowned.  "At all?  Ever?  That's not good.  Ratchet was telling me if things get any worse between you two, Prime might step in and decide Ironhide had to leave and-"

Sarah inhaled sharply.  "I just lost Will, and now Ironhide's leaving, too?  But I thought-"  Sarah broke off, her lips compressing in a tight line, visibly shaken.

 _Oops_.  The chirp of Mikaela's Bluetooth headset was followed by Ratchet's low growl.

 **:** Sarah's vital signs are jumping.  Ironhide is noticing and he isn't happy about it.  What the Pit are you two talking about? **:**

 _Shit_.  She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the feeling of two sets of optics boring holes into her, and the sinking feeling in her stomach.  "Sarah... I'm sorry?  I thought you already knew, that Ratchet told you it was a possibility.  I'm really sor-"

"Would you excuse me, please?"

Mikaela gaped after Sarah as the other woman left the rec room, and flinched at the sound of heavy footfalls behind her.  She sent a frantic pleading glance to Ratchet before looking up at 25 towering feet of angry, heavily armed robot. 

"Ironhide, I'm sorry, I was trying to help-"

"Try harder."  Ironhide huffed displeasure, staring down at her and then glancing to Annabelle.

"See to her," he ordered, turning to follow Sarah out into the hallway.

*~*~*~*

She heard him coming, felt his presence next to her, a warm wave of heat that washed across her skin and made her want to lean in close and soak it up.  She stayed leaning against the wall instead, caught up in her own misery over Will and too uncertain of the giant mech beside her.  It was enough that Ironhide was here.  _For now.  Maybe not much longer, and then I'll be alone._

"Can we go home, now?  Please?"  Her request was made quietly enough, but inside Sarah was weary and heartsick, the thought of him leaving enough to send an edge of panic into her thoughts.

She heard a rumbling sound and turned to look up at him, and received the distinct impression of surprise.  It was in the tilt of his helm, the slow blink of shutters over deep blue optics, and had she really thought they were cold at one time?  Now they just seemed tired, and she had surprised him somehow.  

Sarah looked away.  Maybe she was dreaming, maybe she would wake up to find this had all been a nightmare, and it would be Will standing here with her, a loved and familiar figure, instead of a giant mech who was as alien and incomprehensible as the stars he came from. 

But Ironhide was here, and Will was not.  Ironhide seemed to want something from her, while Will had made it very clear he did not want anything at all.  _Mikaela's right.  We need to talk more.  He wants something, but what?  And I need-_

The sound of clicks and a soft whirr had her looking up again to find Ironhide had crouched lower, his optics considerably brighter.  _Not tired_...  _interested_?  Something had definitely caught his attention.  Sarah could not remember a time when Ironhide had been this close and she gazed at his optics, a faint stir of curiosity at the damaged one. 

Alien he might be, and made of metal, but Sarah knew scars when she saw them.  Will had plenty of them, marks of bullets and blades and shrapnel, welts and puckered skin scattered over his body, some faded to pale white, others still a deep angry red.  Ironhide's scar gave the impression of age.  There were no jagged edges, no bright gleam of newly exposed metal.  The edges were worn smooth, the metal warped and distorted but dull. 

It had the odd affect of making him seem less aloof and more accessible.  The scar brought him down to a human level and made him vulnerable.  He could be damaged, injured, and the scars remained.  She wondered if he felt pain.

None of the others had such obvious scarring and Sarah was about to ask about it, when Ironhide's deep rumble interrupted. 

"We can go- _home_ \- as soon as Ratchet has checked you out."

There was a peculiar emphasis on 'home', but Sarah missed it, pushed firmly back into the unpleasant here and now and trapped in her own misery again.

"Ironhide, I'm so tired."

"I know."

That deep throbbing hum she heard so often seemed to wrap her in a warm layer of comfort.  A large grey hand moved close, just next to her, and the urge to lean against it was almost overwhelming.  Ironhide had that air of waiting again, of expectancy, and Sarah's confusion bordered on frustration.  _What does he_ want _?_

Annabelle's distressed wail echoed down the hallway, and the hand withdrew as Ironhide climbed to his feet.

"I'll get her.  Meet me in Medbay.  Let Ratchet check you and Annabelle, then I'll take you home."

Sarah watched Ironhide move away, surprisingly quiet for such a huge mech.  She wrapped arms around herself, already cold and missing his warmth, and it was only then she wondered how he could know she was tired.

 

_tbc_


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: To my betas, you are the best. Thank you!

~*~*~*~* Scene breaks

***** Denotes breaks within a scene

\-------------------

**Post-Meeting, Rec Room, Same Day**

"Well. As staff meetings go, that was more exciting than it had any right to be." 

"Indeed," Prime agreed, noting the weary tread and dulled armor as Ironhide followed after Sarah. "He doesn't look well, Ratchet."

"No, he doesn't." The medic shook his helm. "I would say removing him is the best option, but the child has developed a strong attachment to him. Ironhide would certainly resist the suggestion."

"With extreme prejudice, I would imagine," Prime added dryly.

Ratchet's huff was amused and exasperated. "Undoubtedly. At least for now we have the child, and Sarah, to thank for keeping him in line. He won't risk upsetting them." The medic finished off his energon, but remained sitting, fingerpads lightly tapping on the cube. An old habit of the medic's when he was formulating a plan, and Prime hid a fond smile, optics glowing softly as he watched his friend. 

Fingerpads left off tapping and Ratchet made a dissatisfied sound, decision reached but one he wasn't happy with. "I'll check Sarah and Annabelle, but I'm not sure what else I can do for Ironhide. Sarah, I believe, is ignorant of the whole situation. I doubt very much Ironhide will be enlightening her anytime soon."

"That is a large part of the problem. He won't because he shouldn't have to."

"Agreed, and with one of our own, he wouldn't need to. Captain Lennox had a compelling reason to accept him as Guardian, Sarah does not. I believe a talk with her may be in order, but Ironhide is not a talker at the best of times." Ratchet's vents blew a frustrated whoosh of air.

"Jazz, perhaps?" Prime suggested. "I would volunteer, but I'm afraid she still finds me intimidating."

The medic waved him off, dispersing his cube and getting to his feet. "I'll do it. Ironhide can watch over Annabelle, I'll check Sarah last."

Prime nodded agreement and dispersed his own empty cube, moving to stand next to him. Ratchet's field prickled with awareness.

"Meet me on the target range later?" Optimus murmured, the sudden intimate brush of his energy field indicating that this invite had nothing to do with target practice.

"I can-" he began, the agreement springing up without thought, and his field was already extending in response when he was suddenly transfixed by one of those prescient moments out of time. Agree to this, and be trapped again, and how long had it taken to free himself last time? Nothing had changed, nothing _would_ change, as long as things remained the same.

That peculiar feeling of time held suspended while Ratchet wavered on the edge of choice and change. From one fraction of a nanoclick to the next, and then he was free from the moment. He only just caught himself, snapping his field back so abruptly he was surprised there wasn't an audible crack of static, and it was with a sinking feeling that Ratchet chose the path he knew in his spark was likely to bring the most grief.

He didn't have to feign regret when he looked up at Optimus and refused his advance.

"...can't," he finished, more calmly than he felt, and inclined his head to Mikaela, trying to distract the wailing Annabelle. "She wants extra lessons. I promised my time to her tonight." 

Optimus accepted the excuse without question, also regretful, and left for his office with Jazz close behind. Ratchet watched him go, experiencing a moment of deja vu so intense it was startling, and consoled himself that he had at least offered a valid excuse. For tonight.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"I'll take Annabelle first, please."

The medic stared as his directive was followed by confused milling. Mikaela was hovering, ready to assist, and reached for Annabelle, which flustered Sarah, who was about to hand her to Ironhide. Annabelle wanted nothing to do with Mikaela and proceeded to whimper and tear up and reach for Ironhide. Mikaela's efforts were met with an annoyed huff from Ironhide, and she scooted away like a startled rabbit. The weapons specialist glared at her before stooping down to retrieve Annabelle out of Sarah's arms and began soothing the little femme. Mikaela drifted back to stand near Sarah, which promptly earned her another death glare from Ironhide.

The sigh from Ratchet's vents was long-suffering.

**::** _Ironhide, get your stubborn aft over here, and try to refrain from killing my student with your optics._ **::**

**::** _Then tell the slagging femme to stop interfering!_ **::**

Irascible, irritable, bristling with annoyance through the comm, yet so remarkably gentle with the tiny being he now held in his hands, and the tones Ironhide soothed her with carried not a hint of ill-temper. 

Deterrent, indeed. Ratchet sent a curt acknowledgement to the black mech, and silent thanks to whoever had first initiated Guardian coding. He watched a frown settle over Mikaela's face as he issued instructions through her headset.

"Ratchet, I just _did_ that-" 

Another glare and huff from Ironhide stopped her in mid-protest. Mikaela prudently decided it was better to remove herself from the vicinity of the annoyed black mech, but not without a parting shot for the medic.

"Fine, I'll do another inventory. _Again_. "

Ratchet's mouthplates twitched. "Go. I promise an exciting new lesson later."

With Mikaela out of the way of Ironhide's wrath, Ratchet turned to Annabelle, examining her as she sucked a tiny digit and blinked sleepily from her seat in Ironhide's hands. The child was in perfect health, and there was really nothing more he could say or do for Ironhide as he scanned the weapons specialist, other than to caution him about getting enough fuel and recharge. The large black mech only grunted at that, and frowned when the medic requested he leave and let him examine Sarah alone.

"Your fuel levels are low again. Go get some energon and take Annabelle with you, I'll comm you when I've finished," Ratchet urged, and Ironhide reluctantly grumbled an agreement, sparing a glance and a quiet word for Sarah before leaving the medbay.

Without Ironhide's constant presence and Annabelle in her arms, Sarah appeared vulnerable and lost, and seemed to feel it too. The medic knelt down, beginning his first set of scans on the small femme before him. She was not quite tucked into the corner by the door, but in far enough, with her arms crossed in front of her and her back to the wall, watching him as he worked. A frown creased her brow. She glanced to the door several times, anxious to leave, and the medic realized she might have an idea that there was some purpose to his sudden change in their routine order of examinations.

"I'm fine, Ratchet. Can I go now?"

The medic raised an optic ridge. "You are about as 'fine' as Ironhide is, Sarah, and that is to say, far from it."

A look of surprise crossed her face, followed by several others that flitted rapidly. Worry primarily, followed by dismay, a touch of panic, perhaps fear. Ratchet tilted his helm trying to decipher them until Sarah looked down, hiding her expression, only her tone giving away any of what she was feeling. Tight, higher pitched than usual, with a wavering edge that hinted at her distress.

"Is it true, what Mikaela said, that Prime will remove him as my Guardian?"

Ratchet continued his scans. "He's not your Guardian, femme. He's ready to be, but you are not, it seems. Without your agreement, he can do nothing, and Prime will remove him, rather than watch him continue to fight a losing battle."

"So this is all just- what, programming he's locked into? He's stuck in a loop? And 'Guardian', I think bodyguard, secret service, police, a giant alarm system for my house who happens to be wonderful with my daughter... hell, I don't know what to think anymore, about any of this." 

Sarah floundered and gave up and Ratchet watched her arms tighten, a few alerts pinging on his scanners once more, the frustration in her voice perfectly clear.

That she was making an effort to understand was to her credit, but the sheer ignorance of the statements had the medic huffing softly. "Don't underestimate 'programming,' femme. Just because you cannot see the wiring and circuitry doesn't mean your species does not follow its own type of programming. Your scientists are just beginning to map out all the different ways it influences you.

"As protoforms we immediately look for camouflage, our alt-mode. Our young ones, those newly sparked, will instinctively seek out a Guardian. So will injured mechs. Guardians will offer their care and protection. It's what we are programmed to do, but we are more than the sum of our parts and programming. We go far beyond that. We have a choice, always."

The femme was listening intently now, stress levels dropping, and Ratchet had to mentally shake his helm, silently vowing to rewire the weapons specialist's mouthplates to get him to say more than three words at a time to her. He continued the impromptu lesson, beginning the last of his scans.

"Ironhide is a Guardian, not a watchdog, not some glorified babysitter. That means he will care for you, he will always put your needs above his own, even at the risk of his own life. But he chooses to do this, he is not compelled by blind instincts and programming. He sees something in you, an alien, that is worth his effort and protection. And he is stubborn enough to stay with you, even when you don't accept him. Prime, however, sees things otherwise." 

A spike of adrenaline pinged on his scanners, Sarah's heart rate increased, and Ratchet hummed lightly in reassurance, noting the increased tension in her frame.

“What he wants is to be your Guardian. It's an important role, one Ironhide does not take lightly. Absent other Decepticons to fight, this is his priority now. Let him be that. Let him help you. He has systems and programming partially engaged, ready and waiting, and you shutting him out throws it all out of synch. We’re adaptable, but this is a constant stressor that he's not prepared to deal with for very long. If you can't accept him, Prime will remove him.”

Stated bluntly, but as kindly as he could, and Sarah was quiet for so long, Ratchet thought the conversation was over. He was finishing the last scans when she spoke again.

“I don’t know what he wants from me.”

Ratchet paused to look at her.

"You are both making this more difficult than it needs to be. Nevertheless, he's waiting on you. This is your choice, Sarah, stay or go, you decide, but tell Ironhide something. This has gone on long enough. If you can't make a decision, then Prime will make it for you."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Rec Room was empty, save for two occupants, one large and reclining on the floor, the other small and curled up on a couch. They were both currently ignoring the movie that played out on the large mounted wall screen.

"I'd like to go along with you." Maggie's half-request was met by a regretful negative from Jazz.

"Someone's gotta be here ta monitor." 

Jazz hid a smile at the disappointed pout and attempted to soothe with her favorite hobby. "And ta keep pokin' holes in 'Hide's security while I'm gone."

"Already on it." Maggie's grin was pure mischief and Jazz smirked in return.

"Great. Wanna finish the movie now?"

"Sure." 

The movie was good, it really was, but Maggie stirred restlessly, unable to focus. She kept looking at Jazz, sitting on the floor right next to the couch, and so much more interesting than any movie could ever be. After two weeks of spending every night together, she still couldn't say she knew anything more about him, and other than some casual contact, he never touched her.

Teeth worried at a bottom lip and Maggie finally reached out and prodded his armor.

Mouthplates quirked in a smile, and Jazz's helm tilted down to watch as the small femme poked tentatively at a plate. 

“Ouch.”

“Oh! I didn’t realize you could feel that!” 

Maggie's surprise was comical and Jazz’s frame shook with a laugh. “Sure I can.” His visor shaded to a deep blue as he looked at her. “I’ll be able ta feel your slightest touch, everything ya do ta me.” 

Jazz watched her face bloom into a riot of color as she blushed furiously. The large silver Autobot vibrated a tune, a crooning song, and she cocked her head at the sound of deep humming.

“Is that a language? What does it mean?”

"It's our most complete form of communication. That sound's how we offer comfort and reassurance, encouragement if it's needed. Other things, too. It kinda depends on the situation."

"Is that something I could learn?"

Jazz's smile was teasing. "What, right now? Instead of watchin' the movie?"

Maggie wrinkled her nose. "The movie's boring. I'd rather learn about you, and I thought that was the point of me being here." She laid a hand on the armored plating of his arm. "Jazz, talk to me. I don't know a thing about you, and it's going to be weird and hard enough when we do... umm- whatever it is we're going to do...." 

She blew out an impatient breath and ran a hand through her hair, tucking stray wisps behind her ear. "What _are_ we doing and when do we start?” 

Ahh. One of those blunt statements she was so good at making. She'd made several of them over the last few weeks, and they never failed to take him by surprise, but this time Jazz was prepared.

"Are ya sayin' you're ready for me, Maggie? Right here and now?" Even sitting next to the small couch, he was still taller by several feet. He leaned forward, closer to her, and watched for the telltale flinch. Her body language would speak volumes, whether she realized it or not.

Jazz loomed, a ton of metal hovering over her, and Maggie stared up at alien features and an unreadable silver visor, unable to keep from shrinking away. "...N-no. I'm not ready yet." She hesitated only a moment before deciding that honesty was the only way her curiosity was ever going to be satisfied, even if it killed the cat while doing so.

"And stop intimidating me, please. All I'm asking for is information. I just want to know what's going on."

Jazz eased back, his visor finally coming alive with a shading of soft blue hues. "I'm not tryin' ta intimidate ya, but you're scared anyway, and that's _my_ point. There's more than one reason we're goin' slow, and I'm askin' ya ta trust me on that." 

Then Maggie surprised him again, a small brow arching up with a look that warned him he was caught. "More than one reason? Are you saying you're not ready either, Jazz?"

Slag, the femme was sharp, he had to give her that. Jazz barely restrained his own urge to pull away when she boldly reached out to place her small hand over the Autobot sigil on his chest plates.

"Please, Jazz. Don't leave me in the dark on this. I want to know."

She was still uncertain, he read that well enough in the small waver of her voice, but her eyes were determined, and Jazz was beginning to realize that this femme wasn't going to be happy waiting around with no explanations at all. 

Maggie was looking for some kind of comfort zone where there was almost none to be had, and her request was legitimate, even if it had him shying away and ready to melt back into the shadows, unnoticed and unmarked like a good saboteur.

He had Ratchet's latest irate comments rolling around in his processors, too. _She has questions and you're not talking. I know that's practically your job description, but she's not a science project, and you cannot disregard her feelings in this. Now start talking before I bolt you down, hand her a laser scalpel, and show her where to start cutting!_

The medic was unusually touchy lately, and the warning was incentive enough to do what Maggie was asking, as was the insistence of his AI that he stay close to her for at least another hour. 

Jazz finally raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, ya got me. I'm not ready either," and grinned at Maggie's cat with the cream smile. "So, before Ratch tears me a new one, or shows you how ta do it, here's what's goin' on."

Two holograms flickered and formed in front of the couch and Jazz pointed to them. "Ya know those scans Ratchet runs on us every day? Watch this now."

Featureless and black, but the size and shapes were clear. The large figure was Jazz, the small one, Maggie. As she watched, a light appeared around each of them, like an aura or halo, a bright blue glow around Jazz, and a dimmer white haze around her image.

"Those are energy fields. You have one, I have one, and everythin' starts with them. We need ta get ours hooked up and meshed together before we go further, and that's what's happenin' right now. The doc is helpin' oversee that."

Maggie glanced up. "It's not an automatic process?"

Jazz hummed pleasure. Sharp, intelligent, a quick grasp of the facts and able to extrapolate beyond them, he'd be hard pressed to find someone more suitable. "It is and it isn't. My field comes from spark energy, your field is bioenergy. I can control my field, extend it and get it ta do things with yours. You can't, so I'm doin' what I can ta compensate and if all goes ta plan, we get a good synch goin' and you'll be able ta feel what I do ta ya, with ya, everythin', and then it becomes automatic."

"So- it's not just touching? There's more to this?" Maggie's gaze was excited, frankly assessing and openly admiring, and Jazz was treated to a thorough once-over. It elicited a purr from the silver Autobot and a flare of armor plates that gleamed and caught the light in vivid display.

"Trust me, there's a lot more ta all this."

Maggie laughed. "That was a preen if I've ever seen one. You're _preening_ , Jazz."

Jazz's visor flickered in a wink, mouthplates curving into that secretive smile she loved.

"Someone looks at me like you just did, Maggs, and ya better believe I'm gonna preen."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**Sarah's Journal  
May**

_I'm an Army brat, from a long line of Army brats. My dad always told me I had steel bred into my spine. I've always been strong and capable and never needed to lean on anyone to handle just about any damn thing life threw at me. I don't know what happened, but I don't feel like that anymore. I just feel tired and weak and I hurt and I can't stop hurting._

_Will's gone. I don't know if he'll be back. I found out today that Ironhide might be leaving too and now_

Sarah's eyes squeezed shut against the overwhelming sense of panic. She trembled, struggling to draw in air, the sensation of drowning a heavy pressure on her chest. She was losing herself bit by bit, pieces being shredded away by too much change, too much loss, trying to go on without Will, utterly alone and nowhere to turn. The knowledge was like a small desperate voice that never stopped. It haunted her dreams and ran through every waking moment. 

_Please, no more. I've lost so much already. I can't stand to lose anything else, not one more thing. I just can't._

Her fingers slipped off the keyboard at the ping of an email alert. It was from Will, the first she'd heard from him in the two weeks since deploying, and Sarah snatched for it like a lifeline. Maybe he changed his mind, maybe he wanted them to come join him, maybe he still...

The hopeful maybe's died away as she read about the half-finished Base and Will's new command, training teams for the next mission, too much paperwork and the hellish heat, and that he was about to 'fall off the grid', his code to her for being out of touch and not to worry. It was only at the end that his note touched on the personal.

**_Gotta run, but do me a favor? I managed to leave my scarf behind. If you find it, send it to me. That thing's been with me so long it's like a rabbit's foot. And go talk to Ironhide for me? Tell him thanks again for the help. Give Anna a hug and kiss for me. Love you, miss you both._ **

**_Will_ **

The sentiment was perfunctory, it felt like an afterthought.

The part about Ironhide did not. 

Sarah stared unseeing at the screen for a moment, before turning her head to look out the window at the night beyond, and the deeper patch of darkness near the large tree. What help had he given Will? How?

Her hand lifted to touch the green and black patterned scarf wrapped around her neck. It was wrinkled and worn in spots, still carrying the smells of dust, suntan lotion, aftershave, and an odor that was simply Will. 

Sarah's fingers smoothed the fabric, caressing it gently, comforted by the scents and softness. The one thing she was sure of in all this, Will was not getting his scarf back.

***************

She thought at first he was asleep, Ironhide sat so still, his optics dimmed almost to black, until she was close enough to reach out and touch the armor of his leg. Then the great helm tilted and those dimly lit optics brightened as he looked down at her. One optic ridge lifted in silent query, and Sarah swallowed and looked away, uncertain of herself without Annabelle in her arms.

The giant mech before her stirred with a creak of shifting metal, leaning close and uttering a quiet question.

"Is there something you needed?"

_I need to know, will you leave, will you stay, is Prime making you go, what do you want from me-_

Sarah took a deep breath, trying to calm the wild tumble of thoughts. Will, start with Will. 

"Will wanted me to talk to you. He said to tell you, thanks for your help."

There was a whirring sound from Ironhide as he inclined his head.

"Tell him to come back safely. That will be thanks enough."

"He said he's about to go on a mission. He'll be out of touch for at least a week or more, but I'll let him know." Sarah blinked away the sting of tears. "I- I always worry about him the most when I can't talk to him or hear from him."

"Understandable. But he is strong, a good soldier. I will make it a point to keep track of him, if that eases your fears." 

"Please? That would help, very much."

"Certainly." 

Ironhide shifted closer. "Is there something more you wanted?"

Here it was, her chance to question him, and Sarah took another deep breath, Ratchet's warning clear in her mind.

"Mikaela told me Prime might remove you. So did Ratchet. Is it true?"

"It is a possibility. It is also what Prime thinks I need. I'm more interested in what _you_ need."

Sarah started to deny she needed anything at all and then gave up, a small tired sound escaping instead.

Ironhide waited, but when she remained silent, he took a different approach. "It's difficult to be separated from a mate," he remarked. "You have my sympathies, femme, but I can give you that without being your Guardian. So let me rephrase, what do you need from _me_ , Sarah Lennox?"

"I don't need your pity, and I don't need coddling," she snapped, flaring up at him like a small nova.

"If you had come to me for that, I would have told you to look elsewhere." Ironhide's tone was faintly amused, but he hummed approval. "I will offer none of those things, but even the strongest among us needs help at times. Someone to be strong when we're in pain and at our weakest, someone to remind us that we don't have to fight alone. Is your species any different?"

His words awoke that sharp ache in her chest, so unexpected that Sarah flinched and gasped, her hand rising to press against it in a useless attempt to soothe the pain.

_Annabelle needs you, I need- Don't leave me alone...please, don't leave..._

Ironhide made no move, only watched her with optics intense and deeply blue against dark metal. He felt he already had the Captain's measure, strong, brave, determined. Whatever their present difficulties, there was a reason William Lennox had claimed this femme as his mate, of that Ironhide had no doubts, just as the image of Sarah stubbornly challenging him to protect her child was one that refused to leave his processors.

"What do you need from me, Sarah?" 

Ironhide leaned down, so close that she should be scared, terrified even, but she wasn't. A feeling of infinite patience was in his very stance. He was waiting for her. He would wait forever if he had to, and in his look the promise of someone to lean on, someone to lend their strength when she couldn't find her own. She didn't have to go on pretending to be strong while she slowly unraveled and fell apart inside.

Sarah found her gaze drawn again to that prominent scarring, clearly visible by the glow from his optics. He was alien, and they could not be more different, but if she knew nothing else about him, she knew from those scars that Ironhide had been wounded, and that he knew pain, and he would never, ever, judge her weak for the pain she was in now. 

Sarah looked up at Ironhide. The slow run of tears felt hot on her cheeks.

"I - I need your promise, that you won't leave us." 

"Accept me as your Guardian, and nothing in this universe will take me from you."

His voice was a low quiet rumble, but all the weight of an unbreakable oath was in his words, the promise of an ancient strength that would never falter or compromise or yield. He would go through hell and beyond and still never stop fighting for those he guarded. For Will, for Annabelle. For her.

Blinded by tears, all she could manage was a whispered, _"Yes"_ before reaching out with shaking hands, and felt metal plates beneath her fingers as something wrapped closely around her. 

_Ironhide._

Sarah rested her head against him, sobbing out her relief against a large metal hand that was impossibly warm, comforting and safe.

 

tbc


	12. Chapter 11

  
Notes: *Decacycle = 1 Week  
  
\----------------  
  


**~ Chapter 11 ~**

  
  
  
**Cybertron - Distant Past**  
  
The party was a welcome respite from the grind of war, and thank Primus, no severely wounded for him to sit and brood and worry over; just a chance to unwind, get to know some of the other mechs in his new posting, and enjoy the victory celebration over the success of their latest battle.  
  
Loud laughter rang out from the table, and Ratchet grinned, relaxing a little more. Only a decacycle with this new unit, and he was still too busy getting the medbay into shape after taking over from his admittedly shoddy predecessor to have a chance to get out much. He hadn’t met any officers or even the Prime yet. They’d been sequestered in conference rooms planning for the battle, and none of them had been among the wounded he’d tended afterwards.  
  
An elbow nudged his side. “He’s watching you.”  
  
Ratchet looked at the large mech sitting next to him.  
  
“Who’s watching me?”  
  
The mech smirked. “The Prime, that’s who.”  
  
Ratchet gave a snort as he rolled his optics. “I’d lay off the strong stuff now, if I were you. Your processors are liable to melt into a puddle of slag.”  
  
“No, I’m serious. He just got here a few kliks ago, and he’s definitely got his optics on you.”  
  
Don’t fall for it, was Ratchet’s first thought, but then his optics flicked over to the first table to find that the Prime was indeed looking right at him as he lounged back in the biggest chair. He looked away when one of his officers leaned over to hand him a cube of high-grade, and Ratchet watched curiously as Prime’s mask slid back and he took a swallow. Optics glowed with pleasure and mouth curved up in a smile as he looked over at the medic again.  
  
Ratchet’s own optics widened, his intakes caught. He thought there would be battle scars, facial features half-destroyed by war, hidden away by the mask, but Prime’s features bore not a single mark, his face handsome, strong, beautiful. The medic was dumbfounded.  _Why in the universe is he hiding behind that mask?_  He watched Prime’s smile grow broader, an optic ridge raise, and realized he’d been caught staring.  
  
Ratchet's gaze dropped to the cube in front of him, faceplates heating with embarrassment. Way to make a great first impression, he thought glumly, staring like you’ve never seen a handsome mech before, and at the Prime, no less. Utterly unprofessional, he scolded himself, and scrubbed a hand over his jaw and knocked back the rest of the cube’s contents. Before he could even look around for more, another cube was slid in front of him. The mech next to him chuckled.  
  
“Don’t worry about it, everyone has that reaction the first time they see the new Prime’s face.”  
  
Another large mech leaned in and grinned down at him. “Fine lookin’ mech, ain’t he? And he sure is lookin’ you over. I bet bein’ with the Prime would be one wild ride, what with all that energy inside of him clawin’ to get out. You know, he’s been alone for some time now, and all them Primes are known to have large… appetites, when they first get the Matrix.”  
  
The mech clapped him on the back and chortled while the medic squirmed uncomfortably. Ignore them, they’re just having fun with the new recruit, Ratchet thought grimly, taking a large swallow of high-grade. Just think how easy it will be to prove yourself here, surrounded by glitching idiots like this.  
  
The first mech draped an arm over his shoulders and leered down at him as he spoke to the other mech. “Maybe the Prime thinks our young and pretty little medic here looks like a tasty morsel to take some of the edge off his appetite.”  
  
Ratchet’s jaw dropped open, then he snapped it shut again and stared down into his drink, his faceplates burning.  
  
The other mech swayed in his seat as he sagely nodded his agreement. “Could be he’s decided that our medic will be his new berthwarmer.”  
  
He turned his attention to Ratchet as the medic made a strangled sound and tried to wiggle out from under his arm to make his escape. The large mech pulled him closer and purred into his audial. “It’s just a matter of time before Prime takes you, medic, but the real question is, can you take him?”  
  
Both mechs laughed uproariously at their own wit, Prime was looking at him again, and Ratchet was hoping the floor would open up and swallow him. He gulped the last of his drink and looked desperately around for more.  
  
Just then the heavy arm was removed, his shoulder was clasped in a friendly manner, and a cheerful voice rang out from behind him.  
  
“Okay, you two, enough with torturin' the new recruit. Primus, how d'ya expect us ta win this war if ya keep scarin' 'em all off?”  
  
The medic turned to see his rescuer. A small, visored, silver mech grinned at him.  
  
“Name’s Jazz.”  
  
“Ratchet. Happy to meet you.”  
  
Jazz chuckled. “Oh, I bet. You’re not the first one I’ve pried from the clutches of this rowdy bunch here. Now, just a moment while I do your invite properly.”  
  
Ratchet’s forearm was clasped in a firm warrior’s greeting, then released. Jazz stepped back, bowed, and stood stiffly at attention as he recited the formal phrases in a ringing voice.  
  
“I bring you greetings and felicitations from Prime, most honored medic, and extend his invitation to you to join him and his officers in this, our victory celebration.”  
  
Jazz bowed with a deep flourish and cheers and laughter erupted around the room. He grinned broadly at his audience and sketched a salute, and then burst out laughing at the look of horror on Ratchet’s face.  
  
“Relax, Ratch, we’re not all formal here or anythin',” he assured the medic. “That was just for fun. They love it when I go all prim and proper like that,” and he laughed again as relief swept over Ratchet’s features.  
  
“Oh and here, before I forget and drink it myself.” Jazz whipped out a fresh cube of high-grade, pressing it into the medic’s hands. “With Prime’s compliments, and now I get ta escort ya ta the grownup’s table.”  
  
Ratchet’s relief fled when Jazz put a hand under his elbow to urge him up.  
  
“You mean I really am supposed to go sit with the officers and - the Prime?” He looked down at the cube from Prime like it was about to bite him.  
  
“Yeah, sure. Don’t know why you’re not already there. You sober enough ta walk? If not, I’m sure your two friends here can lend a hand.”  
  
Ratchet stood up reluctantly, while the two mechs nudged each other and laughed.  
  
“Aww, lookit that, he’s shy about bein’ with the Prime. That won’t last. Prime’ll get that worked outta him in no time.”  
  
“Yeah, our little medic’s gonna get broken in fast and hard by the looks of things.”  
  
“Go on now. Prime seems mighty eager to get started on you, and he’s not a mech to be kept waiting.”  
  
Jazz looked at the two mechs and then at Ratchet, who was looking everywhere but at the first table where Prime sat watching them.  
  
“They been mouthin’ off like that the whole night?” he asked quietly.  
  
Ratchet felt the heat creep up under his faceplates again. “No, just since the Prime got here.”  
  
“Ahh, I see.”  
  
Jazz’s visor shimmered with amusement as he turned to the two mechs still laughing over the medic’s embarrassment. His next words wiped their smirks away.  
  
“Glad you’ve both been enjoyin’ yourselves. Allow me ta introduce ya ta Ratchet, our new Chief Medical Officer.”  
  
Ratchet opened his mouth to protest - he was certainly no officer! - but Jazz continued blithely on. “That means you two have just earned an evenin’s stay in the beautiful and lush accommodations of our finest resort - the Brig - followed by a decacycle of scrubbin’ down every wall and floor in the Base for disrespectin’ an officer.”  
  
Howls of protest followed his pronouncement, and Ratchet jumped as a deep, gravelly voice boomed out over his head.  
  
“Need a hand here, Jazz?”  
  
Jazz smirked up at one of the largest mechs Ratchet had ever seen, a warrior model, bristling with armaments.  
  
“Funny you should ask that, 'Hide. These two were just leavin’ for the Brig, and I’d sure hate for them ta get lost on the way.”  
  
The massive black warrior snorted. “That’d be a shame. I’ll just escort them myself, make sure they don’t run into a wall or the floor or anything.”  
  
The two mechs blanched as he gave them an evil grin, then he turned to Ratchet, looked him over and nodded.  
  
“Ironhide, Weapons Specialist. Here, hold this for me while I take care of these two slagheads.”  
  
A cube was shoved into the bemused medic’s free hand, and Ratchet watched the warrior scruff the cringing mechs by their neck fairings and haul them out of the room.  
  
He winced as one of them hit the doorframe with a resounding clang, followed by a pained groan and a loud “Oops!” from Ironhide.  
  
Ratchet turned to Jazz. “Primus, is it always like this around here?”  
  
“Nah, just when there’s no actual fightin’ goin’ on ta distract everyone,” Jazz told him. “Let’s go -”  
  
“Wait a moment. What was all that about me being the Chief Medical Officer? I was told I was replacing the field medic here.”  
  
“Well, ya are, but now it comes with a promotion. Prime’s orders. Didn’t ya get the datapad?”  
  
“No, my orders were verbal only, about replacing the field medic.”  
  
“Huh. And I sent those orders myself, too. Prime had me do it the day your name popped up on the list of new recruits. A good thing, too, since the sorry medic we had here wasn’t worth the -”  
  
“Wait, you mean,  _Prime_  sent for me? He doesn’t even know me!”  
  
Jazz shrugged. “Your record’s good, and we needed a new medic. Anythin’ else, you should bring up with him. Come on, they're all waitin’ ta meet ya,” and he strode off towards the first table with Ratchet trailing reluctantly behind.  
  
Everyone rose politely as they reached the table, except the Prime, of course, and Jazz began the introductions.  
  
There were some chuckles as one of the first officers he met reached forward to clasp his arm in greeting, and looked pointedly down at the two cubes the medic was holding.  
  
Ratchet flushed as Jazz laughingly plucked Ironhide’s cube out of his hand so he could return the greeting.  
  
“This one ain’t his, he’s holdin’ it for ‘Hide.”  
  
The officer chuckled and clasped Ratchet’s arm. “Really? You must rate then, if he let you guard his drink. Welcome.”  
  
The greetings continued, and then Jazz was finally leading him over to where Prime sat. Ratchet was going into a quiet panic because he didn’t know about being an officer, or protocols, or ceremonies or anything really, except that Prime stood for no one, but suddenly there was Prime standing up to greet him and Ratchet was looking what seemed like a long way up to see Prime’s face, and his arm was being clasped by a very large hand.  
  
He heard a few gasps and some collective murmuring from behind, and saw Prime’s optics flick to his officers, who immediately fell silent. Prime’s gaze returned to his, and at the same time his deep voice rumbled out a welcome, the medic’s internal comm buzzed to life and that same voice was murmuring, “I hate pomp and ceremony, don’t you?”  
  
Before Ratchet could even gape at him, his arm was released and Jazz was seating him in an empty chair near Prime. He gave him Ironhide’s cube to hold again, and leaned forward to mutter in his audial.  
  
“Bunch of sycophants. Prime’s lookin’ ta replace a lot of ‘em. He wants officers who can think for themselves, not mindless drones droolin’ over the shiny Matrix.”  
  
Ironhide came back just then and reclaimed his drink with a gruff word of thanks and a nod to Prime. Jazz took the empty seat across from the medic and immediately launched into some story about other worlds and aliens and strange customs, and it must have been pretty funny because everyone else was laughing, but Ratchet couldn’t focus on it.  
  
He tried to listen, but he couldn’t ignore the little tingle of awareness that niggled through his circuits. He could see Prime from the corner of his optics, lounging comfortably in the oversized chair, watching him, and it was all Ratchet could do not to squirm as the heat crept back up under his faceplates, and all the innuendoes from earlier started cycling through aching processors. He raised his cube, realized it was empty, and stared at it miserably, wondering if it would be a terrible breach of etiquette if he just got up and left the room. And he’d only been sitting here for 15 kliks.  
  
“Here, try this. Jazz just broke out some of his special stores,” a deep voice murmured, a large hand pushed another cube in front of him, and Ratchet realized that it was Prime’s voice and Prime’s hand, and he looked up to see Prime’s face, up close and without his mask, and sat there staring in a daze.  
  
I am so overcharged, he thought, as he gazed at the stunning features, because he suddenly wanted to touch Prime’s face, trace the curve of his mouth, his lips, just to see if they were real. He watched those lips curve up into a smile, heard a soft chuckle, and dropped his gaze back to his drink.  
  
“Stop staring at me,” he muttered resentfully, taking a swallow from the cube and rubbing at a processor ache. A low laugh rumbled around him.  
  
“I believe you were staring at me,” Prime pointed out, and if Ratchet had been just a bit less agitated, and a bit more sober, he never would have dreamed of answering so rudely to the Prime, let alone swearing at him.  
  
“You’ve been staring holes into me all evening! Slagging Pits, Prime!  _What is your problem_?”  
  
There was a collective gasp of intakes from around the table, and the medic was suddenly the center of attention. Ratchet looked over the assembled officers, a sinking feeling at his core. The younger officers were trying to hide smiles, Ironhide was grinning broadly, and Jazz looked ready to explode with laughter, but the faces of the older officers reflected varying degrees of shock, if not outright horror. And Prime… he didn’t dare look at Prime. It was enough to imagine his likely fate. Career over, before it even got started.  
  
He heard a deep laugh and looked up to see Prime’s optics flickering and his entire frame shaking with laughter. He heard more laughter and looked over to see the younger officers chuckling, Ironhide slapping a hand on the table as he shook, and Jazz laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. The older officers simply stared at him in disgust.  
  
Ratchet was quite sure by then that he’d had enough of everything. Protocols be slagged. He drained his cube and stood up to leave, and startled as Prime clapped him on the back and handed him another, pushing him firmly back down into his seat.  
  
Prime’s optics were bright with amusement as he leaned close to the medic.  
  
“And there’s that charm I remember,” Prime said softly, and Ratchet pulled back to stare at him.  
  
“But we’ve only just met. How do you know me?”  
  
“We met originally at the energon dispensary near the clinic where you interned. Do you remember the place?”  
  
Ratchet looked closely at Prime, seeing something vaguely familiar in those amused optics, the curve of his lips as he smiled.  _Originally_. A memory jarred out of storage. Ratchet’s optics widened, his vents gave a slow sigh of air.  
  
“Orion,” he breathed.  
  
Prime gave him a wry smile. “It’s Optimus, now,” he reminded the medic, and reached out a hand to squeeze his shoulderplates. “Good to see you again, Ratch.”  
  
“You were the one chosen, I can’t believe it,” Ratchet murmured, still staring at Prime, then he realized what he’d said and started to stammer out an apology.  
  
Prime waved it off, chuckling, his field brushing warmly against Ratchet's. “No, it’s all right. It came as quite a shock to me, too.”  
  
Ratchet smiled, humming at the brief contact, stronger than he remembered, but still familiar. Still Orio-  _Optimus_ , he corrected himself, and wasn't that going to be a name to keep stumbling over.  
  
Prime tilted his helm in a listening pose, and lowered his voice to a quiet murmur. “My Second tells me we’ve given enough cause for speculation among the gossips for the evening. We’ll talk more later.”  
  
He stood up and all the officers rose as one, while Ratchet struggled belatedly to his feet.  
  
“I’ll take my leave of you now, gentlemechs. Please, stay and enjoy the rest of your evening.” There were murmurs of ‘good recharge’ from the assembly, Prime nodded to them all, and left with Jazz at his side.  
  
\-----------------  
  
Ratchet was in his own quarters preparing for recharge later that night when Jazz came and brought him to Prime’s office. It was a large room, with a desk and conference table on one side, and a comfortable seating area on the other. The silver mech carefully left the office door propped open and pointed Ratchet to a cushioned seat, while he busied himself with datapads at the desk. Prime came in after a few moments and joined Ratchet.  
  
The two sat and looked at each other for long moments, taking in the changes. Prime’s gaze wandered over Ratchet’s features, the medical sigals on his shoulders, the lines of his chassis, while Ratchet struggled to reconcile his memories of the mech he knew vorns ago with the reality of Prime sitting before him now.  
  
The Matrix changes had made Prime large, much larger than Orion, and his face… Orion had been good-looking, but Optimus - Ratchet realized he was staring again and looked away.  _Primus, if everyone does this to him, it’s no wonder he wears that mask all the time._  
  
“No, go ahead,” Optimus murmured. “Do you see - Is there anything left?”  _Of Orion_  hung in the air between them.  
  
“No, not really,” Ratchet finally said, and Prime heaved a sigh.  
  
“I didn't think so,” but his disappointment was obvious.  
  
Silence, while memories crowded thickly around them, only the quiet click of data pads across the room breaking the stillness. Prime sent a request to Jazz for more high grade, and they both watched the young mech leave the room.  
  
“I looked for you the next day,” Prime said, a hint of regret in his voice, “and then I went to the clinic, but they told me you’d gone.”  
  
Ratchet nodded, his thoughts following the same path. “That emergency call. Every medic and intern they could spare was sent, including me. It was chaos for a while, and when things finally settled, the administrator kept me there.”  
  
“Pit of a way to end your graduation party.”  
  
“Yes, it was. Terrible waste of high-grade, too.” They both smiled.  
  
“I tried to reach you, too,” Ratchet said, “but for the first two decacycles I barely had time to recharge, and then when I did, no one knew where you'd gone.”  
  
“I was taken to the Matrix a decacycle after you left,” Prime said. “I had no time to let you know what was happening. I’m sorry.”  
  
Silence again, as they gazed at each other, and then Jazz was there, handing them each a cube, and quietly asking to speak privately with Prime. Prime excused himself and stepped into the hallway with the young officer, shutting the door behind him and leaving the medic to his thoughts.  
  
Ratchet sat and sipped his cube, mentally comparing his memories of Orion to Optimus and trying to put his finger on the exact changes, processors rifling through medical data files for anything relevant concerning new Primes.  
  
The sudden influx of a tremendous amount of power coupled with the physical changes were known to be overwhelming at first. The power that came with the Matrix was often a two-edged sword, and stories were sometimes told, never too loudly, about Primes that had lost control and become corrupt, with disastrous results. It had not happened for more vorns than anyone could remember, and the stories were fast receding into legend, but there were still firm guidelines in place for the careful handling of a new Prime.  
  
Orion had been an archivist, with an interest in history, an odd background for the future leader of an entire world. But his interest and studies had led him to the strong belief that the best hope for the future lay not with the Autobots or the Decepticons, but with all Cybertronians choosing to unite and live together in peace. Not a very popular stand, when everyone around them was busily choosing sides, and the Neutrals as a group and way of life were rapidly becoming extinct.  
  
Ratchet wondered again why Orion had been chosen. His faith in Primus and the Matrix were strong, but that hardly seemed like a necessary qualification when a civil war was raging, and what was needed was a leader who could fight.  
  
The Matrix had changed Orion physically, that much was obvious, and a little overwhelming, Ratchet thought with a faint snort. Harder to spot were the changes that might have occurred in his thoughts and convictions, but Optimus appeared to have retained the same set of goals and beliefs that Orion had. Orion had been calm and a bit reserved, and by all accounts Optimus was even more reserved, perhaps a compensation for his somewhat dubious distinction as the youngest Prime in history. He no doubt still had his faith, given that the living proof of it was now firmly implanted in him, and it was well-known by now that the new Prime considered the war a necessary evil, and his ultimate goal was unity and peace for Cybertron.  
  
There were some differences between the two mechs, and Ratchet wondered if the Matrix had caused them. Orion had never been ambitious and claimed no interest in leadership, but Optimus was establishing himself very well as a leader, and a good one, judging by what the medic had seen and heard just this evening. He had a strong presence and expected his orders to be followed, but he was also surrounding himself with officers who were not afraid to speak their minds and challenge those orders if the reasons were valid.  
  
Orion had always insisted he was no fighter, but he had the quiet confidence of a mech who would stand by his convictions and fight for them if he was forced to it. The confidence was still there, but Optimus was a leader, and that confidence now had a commanding edge to it.  
  
As for fighting, the story of the new Prime leaping into his first battle only moments after receiving the Matrix had already taken on all the trappings of a myth brought to life. Optimus Prime was a legend in the making, and he wasn’t even dead yet, Ratchet thought cynically, a reflection of how desperately hopeful everyone was that the new Prime would make all the difference, and the war would soon be over.  
  
Ratchet's vents blew out air in a sigh. He missed his friend’s steady calm the most. Was it still there in Optimus? He wasn’t sure. Optimus seemed calm, but there was an intensity to him that Orion had lacked, or maybe it was tension. Even dipping into Jazz’s store of high-grade this evening had failed to ease it entirely.  
  
The door opened and he heard Optimus bidding Jazz a good recharge, and Prime returned to take his seat. It was then Ratchet realized that by far the most striking difference about Prime was the sense of power that surrounded him. Ratchet could almost hear the air crackling with it, and his optics were drawn to the large center seam of Prime’s chestplates. His receptors could feel the Matrix as it throbbed and beat and churned with energy. Too much, too restless.  
  
Prime’s movement startled him as he leaned forward and lifted one of his hands. “I see you received the final upgrades.” Large fingers caressed the palm, Prime's optics lifted to his, and Ratchet’s intakes caught. Sensual smile, stunning features that belonged on the face of Primus himself, bright blue optics darkening with lust, the same as Orion’s had on that last night. Prime's field reached out. A shudder went through Ratchet’s frame. I am way too overcharged right now, he thought, his systems revving unsteadily.  
  
“Ahh, they’re very sensitive, too.” That sensual smile again, and Prime’s thumb stroked small circles over his palm, his field curling in erotic invitation around him. “I remember everything about you, Ratch.”  
  
Ratchet pulled his gaze away with an effort and gently withdrew his hand, his own field pulsing a negative response to the Prime's. “Please, don’t. The guidelines are quite clear. It’s the Council that decides these things and you should be following their recommendations. I’m surprised you don’t have a berthmate by now.”  
  
Prime's field withdrew abruptly. “There are many things the Council tells me I’m supposed to do as Prime that I find myself not wanting to do.”  
  
The first faint alarms went up in Ratchet’s processors. “That’s not a good sign. A berthmate would help -”  
  
“I’ve already lost two,” Prime snapped. He rose to his feet, angry now, pacing away restlessly. The medic could hear the Matrix humming and seething, feel the static crackle in the air as power bled out of Prime. He turned back to Ratchet, outrage on his faceplates. “They were targeted as soon as their status became general knowledge. Can you imagine? They were killed because I was  _fragging_  them! I’m not choosing anyone else and have yet another death on my hands that I could have prevented.  
  
“And besides…” The anger vanished as quickly as it came, and Optimus trailed off, a deep frown lowering optic ridges. Ratchet had never known Orion to be moody, but now, as Prime, he was almost volatile.  
  
“Besides?” Ratchet prompted, uneasy with the swiftly changing moods of the powerful mech before him.  
  
“It’s not me they choose, it’s the Matrix,” Prime said at last, disgust twisting his mouthplates. “And in my berth, it’s not passion they offer, not even affection, but honor.” He laughed, a short, ugly sound. “It’s an honor to be with the Prime, they tell me. Primus slag all of them. The Matrix burns inside of me, but at my core I’m colder than I’ve ever been in my existence, and all they offer me is honor. I keep doing what the Council tells me to do, and it doesn’t help. Nothing helps.” Prime’s optics shuttered, his frame shook. “It’s wrong. Something’s very wrong and I don't know what or why, but I want - I need more.”  
  
Ratchet was deeply concerned now. Tradition, collective wisdom and the Council decreed that a new Prime be paired with an older mech, one who was calm, unemotional, someone who could provide a steadying influence to the instability inherent in Primes newly gifted with the Matrix.  _No passion, no desire. Orion would have hated that, interfacing with someone who felt nothing for him, who didn’t even want him._  
  
Alarms were going off in his CPU, his instincts clamoring with the danger he could see right in front of his optics. Whatever had worked in the past was not working now. The future crystallized before him with brutal clarity.  _They’re going to ruin him, and then we’ll have a rogue Prime on our hands._ It would spell disaster for all of Cybertron.  
  
Outwardly he remained calm, but deep down Ratchet was filled with rage and sorrow.  _Fragging sons of glitches. They stick him on a pedestal to be honored and interface with him like a duty to be performed, and this is where his faith has led him… Orion, Orion… what have they done to you?_  
  
Something else rose up then, thrumming through his systems like a clarion call, beating through him and pushing every other concern aside except the need to help and heal.  
  
Ratchet reached a hand up and took Prime’s, and drew him back down. Prime sat, head in his hands and optics shuttered closed, and a memory flashed through the medic’s processors. They had first met like this, but then it had been Orion offering his help to Ratchet, anguished over the loss of a patient.  
  
Ratchet pushed Prime’s untouched cube towards him. “Here. You look like you need this more than I do.”  
  
The cube was drained in one long swallow and set back down. A murmur of thanks, a weak smile.  
  
“Does it help?” the medic asked, wondering what, if anything, would help Prime out of the Pit he was in.  
  
“Barely takes the edge off,” was the tired reply.  
  
“Good,” Ratchet responded briskly. “Then I can safely recommend it for medicinal purposes, and not worry about you overcharged and leading the troops into battle.”  
  
An optic ridge arched in surprise, a small chuckle, another brief smile. Ratchet leaned closer, touching Prime’s hand, his field flaring in invitation, an offer of help. Prime’s hand closed around his, but not in seduction this time, simply holding his, field flickering against him, seeking comfort.  
  
Whatever relief the high-grade had brought was short-lived. Prime looked unutterably weary. Optics were dim, fingers pinched the bridge of his nasal plate, a rub across his chestplates brought a grimace of pain. Matrix energy seethed.  
  
Ratchet gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “Optimus, talk to me. Tell me what you need.” Hesitation, a hard grip of his hand, tremors through the large frame, roiling power crackled through the air. Ratchet's optics pinned on Prime's chestplates, the source of the turmoil.  
  
“The Matrix… it hurts me, Ratchet. I didn’t think it would hurt. Sometimes it feels like it’s clawing its way out of my chest. Primus, no one told me it would hurt like this. There has to be something wrong, and it can’t be the Matrix, so it must be me. I’ve tried so hard to believe and accept everything that’s happened, to do what I’m supposed to do, but nothing helps, the pain never stops. Primus help me, I don’t know what to think or believe anymore, I just want the pain to  _stop_.”  
  
Prime looked at him then, an eerie similarity to Orion in his optics, but this was not the steady, calm Orion Ratchet knew so well. This Orion was stricken and in pain, his faith shaken right to his core. The medic cursed silently.  _Did they even tell him what was going to happen? Or did they just stick the slagging thing in his chest and turn him into an icon?_  
  
"Can you help me?" Low, tired voice, an aching plea that went right to Ratchet’s spark, and Prime's field was making deep inroads into his own, trying to draw support.  
  
He leaned closer, gave another squeeze to Prime’s hand, set his field to pulse soothing comfort into Prime's. "I'll do my best."  
  
"Thank you," Optimus said simply.  
  
They stayed for a few moments, just like that, and then Prime withdrew his field and released Ratchet's hand and stood up, the battle mask closing over his faceplates, hiding everything.  
  
Prime looked down at him, calm and serene once more, only the Matrix seething fitfully behind locked chestplates, and Ratchet could only marvel at the control Optimus was still able to exert over himself.  
  
 _tbc_  
  



	13. Chapter 12

Notes:  
  
* ~*~*~*~*~ denotes break within a scene.  
*:: denotes comms.  
  
\-------------------   
  


**~ Chapter 12 ~**

  
  
He should have ventured out sooner, it was too long since his last refueling. He waited, a black shape against deeper darkness, clamping down on the panic beginning to thread through circuits as his systems ticked down to critical fuel levels. Just as he was beginning to think his hunt was in vain, there came the sound of footsteps and movement at the edge of his sensors. The Saleen carefully drew itself up in readiness. The footsteps came closer, the car eased forward, and then the loud creak of stressed metal halted the creature in its tracks. Barricade nearly groaned aloud. If he missed this one, he wouldn’t get another chance.   
  
Too starved and desperate to wait any longer, the black car jerked forward, startling his prey with the roar of the gunning engine. A cable snapped out to coil tightly around the small frame, another covered its nose and mouth, cutting off a scream.  
  
Success.  
  
There was an aborted attempt at escape before it was drawn struggling into the confines of the vehicle. More cables uncoiled, looping around until his prey was completely immobilized.  
  
Processors buzzed with static. He was drawing too heavily on reserves, his control was beginning to slip. He needed to do something now, but what? So hard to think, to scan. Scan. Why did he need to scan?  _... eyes dulled, no longer wide with panic.... face, what little could be seen, mottled.... discolored...._  
  
A harsh jumble of electronic noise crackled out into the quiet of the car.  
  
The cable covering the human's face was removed, the coils around its body loosened and released. It collapsed across the seat, coughing, gasping, a small trickle of blood at the corner of its mouth.  
  
He watched it, distaste at its presence within him warring with relief that he had not managed to kill this one, too. He scanned the creature, noting in passing that this one was female. He detected no significant injuries and shut them down, regretting having to use them at all when his fuel levels flashed from marginal to critical. Warnings pinged urgently, and Barricade cursed again. He had no time left.  
  
Cables moved again, rolling the female roughly onto her back and pinning her to the seat. Another cable hovered over her. Large blades sprang out fanwise with the sharp hissing slither of drawn metal, flashing and sharp-edged. The female’s eyes widened, following the deadly blades as they moved to position just over her waist.   
  
"W-wait,  _wait_ -"   
  
A menacing growl cut her off. "You have exactly two choices. Cooperate or I cut you to shreds."  
  
Barricade waited for the usual reaction and was not disappointed. Just as the human opened her mouth he clamped a cable across it, gagging her once more.  
  
Terrified eyes followed one razor edged blade as it descended. The female’s screams were muffled by the cable, her body strained against the bonds holding her fast. One razor edge drew a delicate stroke over quivering flesh, tiny beads of blood welling from the thin red line before the entire assembly came to rest.   
  
She whimpered at the press of cold metal against her belly, while Barricade was hard put not to moan at the luxuriant feel of heat, even from a fleshling.   
  
“I will allow you to speak now, human, and you will give me your answer.”  
  
The cable slid slowly away from her gaping mouth. She coughed once, twice, and on the third try managed a hoarse whisper.  
  
".... p- please - I'll d-do whatever- Jus'- don' kill me."  
  
The voice that answered her was a grating sneer. "I have a use for you, fleshling. That is the only reason you still live."   
  
\-------------------------------------------------  
  
Maggie stared intently at the display, hands pressed to the headphones covering her ears. Yes... Maybe... No. Not the signal she thought it was. It started out strong, then disintegrated into random noise as soon as the detector got a lock on it.  
  
She twitched with a sudden chill. Maggie took off the headphones and sighed, rolling her head and shoulders and ending with a stretch of arms above her head. It was probably time for a break, but she didn't want to let this go. Three times in the last hour, and the pattern was peculiar. She leaned forward and recalibrated the detector, hoping to catch it again. She was convinced it was a signal, she just didn't have enough information to convince anyone else.  
  
Her shoulders twitched again, another chill tickled its way down her spine. Maggie pushed a stray lock behind an ear and reached for her headphones. The little tickle crept over her shoulders.   
  
Maggie went very, very still, her hand closing around an empty can. She tilted her head in a listening pose, reaching for the headphones again, and caught a flash of metal out of the corner of her eye.  
  
She smiled to herself and whipped around, nailing the large silver Autobot neatly.  
  
"Hey!" Jazz protested, spreading his hands. "Wasn't me." Then his mouthplates stretched in a broad grin.  
  
Maggie laughed. "Right, and that grin of yours just completely ruined your aura of innocence."  
  
His visor flickered in a wink. He bent down to pick up the can and tossed it back to her.  
  
"I think your aim is gettin' better, babe."  
  
She caught it and smirked up at him. "I think you're slowing down, Jazz."  
  
He moved from the door with one of those lighting fast moves that left her mind in a whirl and wondering if she was seeing things, and was kneeling next to her chair in an instant. One large silver arm curled around her gently.  
  
"Never," he declared. This time the tingle down her spine was stronger and Jazz's visor was shaded with the soft glowing blues of a very good mood.   
  
"Is that - Am I feeling your field?" Maggie asked.  
  
"I'd say so." Jazz hummed, a fingerpad flipping a bright lock of hair.  
  
She reached a hand out to trace the sigil on his chestplates. "So we're ready?"  
  
"Ready when you are, babe. Come ta my berth tonight, and we'll begin."  
  
The tingle became a slow, deliberate stroke.   
  
Maggie shivered.  
  
\-------------------------------------------------  
  
Fire, Sam decided, was his friend. Fire was good, fire was warm. He poked at a few glowing embers at the edge of the campfire with his stick, watching them spark and tiny flames begin licking up around them. A chill ran down his back, leaving goose pimpled skin behind. He shuddered and drew in closer.  
  
"...You know I'm still not speaking to you, right? After ditching me and making me walk 5 miles back home. How's Mikaela? You both finished up with the home school thing yet? Man, that sucks you can't be in school. How about the Senior party, you coming to that? You have to make that, bro, it'll be epic. Dude, enough with the fire, put a hot dog on that stick, will you? You haven't eaten anything all day. How about we try fishing tomorrow? I brought some line..."  
  
Sam stared into the fire, letting the steady stream of chatter flow over him. That was the thing about Miles, he could go on and on and never really expect an answer, just a nod now and then.   
  
Sam nodded. Miles moved on. A hot dog had magically appeared on the end of Sam's stick. He held it over the fire, watching red and yellow flames eat at it. "...Where'd the marshmallows go? I know I packed like, 5 bags of them..." He was so happy to see Sam after months of nothing. Sam felt guilty, immensely relieved that he still  _had_  a friend, and completely tongue-tied because what he really wanted to tell Miles was everything that was now top secret and classified, how screwed up everything was, how much he wanted the world to stop spinning insanely around him, and how he wanted the voice in his head to go away and leave him the fuck alone.   
  
Mostly, he wanted to tell Miles about Bumblebee, about the amazing car that transformed into an even more amazing giant robot, and keeping a secret like that from his best friend was about to kill Sam.  
  
He could feel the weight of Bumblebee's attention on him, even in alt-mode. Sam twitched and shivered, wishing he could go crawl inside and nestle into the memory foam comfort of 'Bee's back seat and really warm up. He watched the hot dog dip low with the movement, the skin starting to crisp and blacken from the flames.  
  
"...waffles. I'm making waffles for breakfast, those giant Belgium things with whipped cream and strawberries? Except we don’t have strawberries. Or whipped cream. Bummer. Man, check this out. The manual says we can eat the grubs I found under that rotten log. Those survivor guys and the military dudes, like, you know, Rangers and shit? They eat them all the time. Think I'll stick with waffles. I brought a waffle maker. We can plug it into your car. It's got enough juice to run the thing, right?"  
  
 _Wait, what?_  
  
Sam lifted his head. "You brought a waffle maker on a camping trip, and you're going to make waffles inside my  _car_?" The bright yellow Camaro made a weird electronic noise. Sam decided that was a big  _hell, no_.  
  
Miles was glancing between him and Bumblebee, with a look that was even stranger than the waffle idea. Sam felt his stomach start to drop. That look was telling him Miles knew something was up, he just wasn't sure exactly what, but he was the type to hang on and worry at a mystery until he solved it.  
  
Miles grinned. "Dude, who does that? You bring apples and cheese and Slim Jims and instant oatmeal, shit like that for breakfast." He reached for Sam's stick, unskewered the blackened hotdog and popped a marshmallow on it instead. Sam's gorge rose. It looked like a fat white grub dangling on the end of the stick.  
  
"I was just checking something," Miles was saying, still watching the Camaro. "Maybe next time, we can bring my dog."   
  
There was another little  _oh hell, no_  noise from the car. Sam stared blankly, or tried to. Firelight glanced off of Bumblebee as he shifted. _Shitshitshit, stop moving 'Bee._  
  
Miles' grin faded completely. He nodded to himself. "Uh huh. So, bro, when were you going to tell me your car is alive?"   
  
Sam froze like a deer in Bumblebee's headlights.  
  
\-------------------------------------------------   
  
Refueled and out of danger of stasis lock for the moment, Barricade pushed the female roughly out of his cab and delivered the hard electrical shock that would take her short-term memories. He left the human trembling on the ground, not without a hint of regret. A slave would be useful here, and these fleshlings had spirit.  
  
Barricade growled to himself, remembering the heat of her small frame pressed to his seat, the feel of sharp teeth against his cable. Let him get back to fully functional, and he might consider acquiring one permanently.   
  
Air huffed from the Saleen, along with a groaning metallic creak as the vehicle moved out onto the road. Damaged internals and inefficient fuel barely kept him alive, let alone functional. He was running on reserves, every movement he made carefully calculated to spend as little of those reserves as possible. Unless he somehow gained access to real fuel, this would be his existence for the foreseeable future.  
  
It wasn’t in him to simply lie down and offline, but Barricade had to question what he was surviving  _for_ , pushed as he was to the edge of starvation, desperate and utterly reliant on these small scurrying creatures.   
  
The Saleen's engine grumbled as he retreated back to his hole to lie up and wait until he needed to refuel again. The human’s fuel moved sluggishly through his systems, and Barricade shuddered. He was so slagging cold all the time.   
  
He should have kept the fleshling; her struggles had warmed up his cab nicely.  
  
\-------------------------------------------------   
  
Will Lennox stood outside in the pre-dawn darkness, barracks some distance behind him, nothing but sand ahead of him, and well away from prying eyes and listeners who might be concerned that an elite corps Army Ranger, and an officer, was starting to talk to himself. Or become suspicious for other reasons. Lennox was too aware that a few of his superiors knew of a certain black Topkick truck that had taken up residence at his home, and some of them were perfectly willing to bring pressure to bear if they thought there was any advantage in it. So much for secrecy.  
  
His thoughts wandered away from Guardian and mission and on to Sarah. Or rather, back to Sarah; she was never far from his thoughts these days. He'd been here a month, and it felt more like six. He had no idea how he was going to last two years.  
  
Will had been in love several times before, or at least heavily in lust, but it had only taken one look at Sarah to fall so hard and fast he thought he'd been sucker punched. The first time he laid eyes on her was at a party, with the sharks already circling and the beautiful blond facing down a 6-foot hulking Army grunt who was crowding her and refusing to take hell no for an answer. Will grinned at her thinly veiled snarl that still managed to be polite, and moved forward to school the thick-headed idiot on how to treat a lady.   
  
He knew he was very firmly caught, hook, line and sinker, when instead of wilting like some rescued damsel in distress, Sarah had turned a death glare on him, clearly ready to take on the even larger Ranger. Will had paused to take it all in, 5 feet 6 inches of blue-eyed blond, every one of those inches looking like a lady, and with a backbone and nerves made of pure steel. Those gorgeous blue eyes were still glaring death at him, and Will almost took the hint and left her alone, but underneath Sarah's prickly threat was cautious admiration and a hint of interest at the way Lennox had warned off the idiot and four other guys just as big and made them back down. That was enough of a green light for Will to turn on the charm and work at setting her at ease, and by the end of the evening he had Sarah's phone number.   
  
He left the party walking on air.  
  
Will Lennox had always been lucky, and never counted himself more so than when Sarah had agreed to become his wife. Every day since then had been perfect. Sarah, his lady, had been perfect, their marriage, their life, everything. Until now.   
  
Will shook his head, that familiar tangle of love mixed up with anger and guilt and fear threatening his hard-won control. He had the pictures of Annabelle that Sarah had sent along, but of Sarah herself - His mouth tightened. The one picture he had, and no idea who had taken it, but she was thinner, and pale. Even with her face half-hidden against their baby girl, she looked worn down and closed in and so unhappy he almost didn't recognize her. Will had run fingers gently over the photo, feeling like a complete and utter bastard.  
  
Lennox raked a hand through his hair, wishing the tech guys would fix whatever was causing the interference and get the damn video links to finally work right. He needed to see Sarah's face, hear her voice. The updates from Ironhide helped, but he needed to see for himself what was going on with her.   
  
The Ranger huffed and rolled his shoulders to ease the tension from neck and back, his focus returning to the mission at hand. He shook another few bits of snack from the Cracker Jack box into his mouth, relishing the satisfying crunch, the sweet-salt tang on his tongue. The small 'prize' from the box lay in his palm, silver metal catching the lights from the base as he examined it.  
  
"Neat trick, 'Hide. So this will help you track me, if anything goes wrong?"  
  
"The tracking part is only as good as your satellite system. But you can get a signal directly to me, if there's trouble."  
  
Ironhide's distinctive rumbling voice came through so clearly, Will almost swore his Guardian was right beside him. His lips quirked, listening to the explanation. Giant black metal alien who turned into a truck, with enough fire power to handily take out their new Base and look around for bigger targets, Ironhide was a walking, talking arsenal. With a British accent. That was enough to mess with his head if he thought about it too hard. Right now it made him grin, and that deep accented voice was reassuring. Someone had his back, and his men's, if things went south; someone in a position to do something about it.  
  
"Nice." Will fingered the device, the tiny silver cylinder reminding him of an emergency whistle. "I just need a safe place to stow it."  
  
"No need. Hold it against your identification tags, it will transcan and merge with the metal."  
  
"Hmm, really." Will pulled out his dog tags, metal clinking quietly as he loosened the tape holding them together, and raised the cylinder to touch it to the tags.  
  
Ironhide's voice was calm. "Whatever your protocols, Will, if anything happens to you, someone  _must_  take your tags with them. Tell someone you trust, make sure they do it. Their lives may depend on it."  
  
Lennox paused, a chill chasing down his spine.  _Someone just walked over my grave._  He exhaled a long breath, eyes narrowing on the cylinder. "Tell me exactly what this thing does, Ironhide."  
  
"Once transcanned, it will link to your biosignature. If you die, it will automatically begin signaling. I will be able to find any survivors who carry that with them."  
  
His hand clenched around the cylinder.  _It turns on when I turn off._    
  
"I know you would want your men rescued, even if you don't make it. Failsafe, Will."  
  
Will took a deep, steadying breath. "Got it."  
  
He held the cylinder to his tags and watched silver metal light up and come alive, shifting and reforming and finally sinking into the thin slips of metal. The tags rested against his chest, warm, almost hot to the touch. There was a peculiar pulsing sensation that lasted for several seconds before fading away, the heat subsided, and nothing but plain metal could be detected.  
  
He touched the tags. Failsafe. It was the smart thing to do, and he was glad to have it for his men's sake, but -   
  
Will growled to himself and that stubborn part of him that refused to roll over and quit, even with death staring him in the face, reared up inside and growled right along with him. His hand clenched around the tags, metal edges digging hard into the palm of his hand.  
  
He'd be damned if he was going to give this thing the opportunity to go off.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Ironhide closed the comm link after Lennox sent his usual affections to his mate and offspring by way of his Guardian, and Ironhide bade the Ranger a good night and luck with his mission in the morning. It was all he could do, and it still felt far too little to ensure Will's safety. Without a treaty in place, Prime had flatly refused Ironhide's request to join the soldiers in their hunt for Skorponok, but had also turned a blind optic to Ironhide smuggling a piece of their own tech into Will's hands for the Guardian to keep track of his charge.  
  
The black mech looked down at the two femmes with him. The tiny one nestled in the palm of his hand sound asleep, the other sat several feet away, dozing fitfully. He hadn't lied or tried to gloss anything when Lennox asked how his mate and child were doing, even when the answers ranged invariably from 'not good' to 'worse.' This time however, he was able to give a very cautious 'better' in response to Will's inquiry.   
  
She missed her mate terribly, but Ironhide did think Sarah was better, all things considered. Sleep was sporadic, but she was eating; she even sat with him and talked, hesitantly but she talked. Ironhide responded, nearly as hesitant as his charge as they cautiously groped their way across the vast gulf of human-alien unknown lying between them. Jazz would be better at this, Ironhide could admit, but he wasn’t Guardian, Ironhide was, and finally in a position to persevere. The last of his Guardian protocols was now fully engaged. Programming continued towards completion, spreading its own priorities throughout his systems.   
  
In his hand, Annabelle stirred and sat up. “Mama!”   
  
Ironhide hushed her with a soft buzz and a low rumble, curling one digit towards her. “I’m here. Let your mother sleep, young one.”  
  
She turned her eyes up to her gigantic Guardian and gurgled happily, one tiny hand reaching out to clutch the tip of the large finger.  
  
“’Ide?”  
  
The query made the Guardian chuckle. “Your father calls me that.” He hum-clicked approval to the tiny femme and Annabelle listened, wide-eyed and with far more comprehension of his language than her mother showed.  
  
“’Ide,” Annabelle affirmed, patting his finger. She reached for the tiny object dangling by a ribbon from her shirt and popped it in her mouth. Ironhide watched it work up and down as she sucked, looking up at him contentedly.  
  
Beside him, Sarah shivered, and ancient blue optics turned down to his newest charge. Ironhide eased his hand closer until she was comfortably supported and heated the plating, surrounding her with warmth. Sarah sighed in her sleep and tucked close, the small tremors easing out of her frame. The murmur of Will’s name was the last thing Ironhide heard before she relaxed into a deeper sleep. He let his field fold around her, resonating comfort and reassurance, flickers of blue energy delving into the soft white of her biofield.   
  
 _Nothing in this universe will take me from you, femme._  
  
Sarah was hurting, but she was his now, and he would remain her Guardian until one or both of them offlined.  
  
Ironhide watched over her as she slept, nearly as content as her offspring.   
  
\-------------------------------------------------   
  
Miles didn't buy the remote control story. Or the onboard super advanced computer story. Or the concept car of the future with the optional secret military spygear package story. By the time Sam gave up and told him about the alien race of giant sentient metal beings that transformed at will between car and robot form, Miles was snorting in disbelief.   
  
"Fine. You don't want to trust me, that's okay, just stop treating me like I'm an idiot. I see things, Sam. I fucking  _know_  there's something not normal about your car." He stalked off to the tent, still muttering.   
  
Sam walked over to his Camaro and slapped a hand on the hood.   
  
"You couldn't help me out and say something at least? Not make a liar out of me? Thanks, 'Bee, thanks a lot."  
  
The Camaro whined, backing slowly to the edge of the clearing and on into the cover of woods. Sam followed, his hand still plastered to warm metal. He kept it there, feeling the metal flex and shift and come alive under his hand as Bumblebee began the rise up out of his altmode, electronic hums and whirrs and clicks marking each stage of transformation. His hand slipped off the plating and on to other places as the Autobot rose higher, Bumblebee moving slowly enough not to catch it in gears and plating.  
  
It wasn't fondling, absolutely not, Sam told himself firmly as his fingers drifted over moving parts, along the folds of strong chest armor coming together, the ridges of plates that looked like muscles forming the abdomen, some of it silky smooth, other parts rougher, like calluses from hard use, and all of it moving with a leashed power beneath his hand. Bumblebee continued rising. Sam traced over the license plate, palmed shamelessly over the large rounded bulge of crotch shielding and the long metal panels that formed Bumblebee's thighs, and finally he was left touching a large armored plate on the Autobot's lower leg.  
  
He looked up at his Autobot towering over him. Bumblebee looked down, blue optics glowing softly. Sam licked his lips and swallowed, letting his hand fall away as the last piece of metal shifted and locked into place.  
  
Deciding 'Bee transforming was the hottest thing he'd ever seen, or felt, completely topped all the other weirdness of the night. He groaned silently when his cock twitched agreement.  
  
Bumblebee moved to crouch in front of him, powerful, graceful. "Are you still angry with me, Sam?"  
  
No, no he wasn't. "Yes, I am. What was that back there? You left me hanging, 'Bee." Sam felt his skin tingle pleasantly.   
  
Bumblebee's helm tilted. "Your pheromones disagree."   
  
His cock hardened. Sam flushed. "Yeah, well... shut up."  
  
The Autobot hummed, optic guards crinkling in amusement. "Would it help if I told you I felt the same?"  
  
 _About the 'shut up' part or the part where you have a dick that's getting painfully hard, too?_    
  
Sam blinked up into warm blue optics, his stomach somewhere down around his feet, and finally managed a shaky laugh. "I have no idea what to do with that, 'Bee." His fingers did, though. They wanted to continue right where they left off.  
  
Bumblebee echoed that thought, one large hand moving next to Sam. "Continue as you started? That was promising."  
  
Promising and exciting and Sam was starting to breathe harder, staring at that hand. He wanted to press himself into it, feel those large fingers moving over his skin, pull his cock out and grind it up against the warm metal of Bumblebee's palm. He groaned. Where the hell was all this coming from?  
  
Bumblebee crooned encouragement. "It's alright, Sam. I would have asked you sooner, but I wanted to make sure you were interested, that you wanted me, too."   
  
Optics pinned on him, their blue shifting to a deeper hue that somehow glowed even brighter, the entire optic area lit up. Sam was caught and held by that gaze, his body giving an all over shudder, a jag of lust hitting hard, waiting for that hand to close around him, for those fingers to touch him.  
  
His ears started to ring. The shout in his head made him stagger.  _Nonononono!_  Something large moved against him, a powerful jolt ripped through his body. He couldn't even scream, only gasp through the agony, muscles juddering and twitching with the lighting shock pouring through him. Tears streamed down his face, he shoved weakly at the metal fingers surrounding him and collapsed when they let him go. He didn't remember hitting the ground.  
  
Sam woke up with grass in his mouth. His muscles were shaking, his body ached all over, pain hammered into his skull. He rolled over and vomited blood and bile and bits of grass into the dirt. Bumblebee hovered over him, making distressed electronic noises.   
  
In the next instant, the world tilted around him. His vision blurred, the pain vanished, and he was standing again, staring up at Bumblebee.  
  
 _What. The. Fuck._  "'Bee, did you see that?"  _What happened to me, what the_ hell  _just happened to me?_  
  
Bumblebee's helm tilted, optic ridges lifting in a puzzled expression. "See what, Sam?"   
  
Bumblebee's hand was moving to engulf him. Sam's ears began ringing. He panicked, cringing away and stumbling back, violently shaking his head. "No, 'Bee, I can't - don't touch me!"  
  
He fought with himself not to turn and run, watching Bumblebee's hand pull away, an eerie electronic sound rising above his head. Sam's hair rose on the back of his neck. He knew that sound from Mission City, somewhere between a pained groan and an agonized cry as Bumblebee dragged himself towards Sam, legs blown off and scattered in bits of bright yellow around him.  
  
Sam trembled and blinked back tears, listening to that sound.  
  
He didn't dare look up to see what might be in Bumblebee's optics.   
  
\-------------------------------------------------   
  
Bumblebee sent his message and stood outside the Base waiting, his gaze fixed on the stars above him, but his processors turned inwards.  
  
He had stood for hours, watching the sun slide down to the horizon’s edge, painting the sky as it went with gold and pink streaks splashed across clouds, the sky deepening to the color of lust-blue optics. Beautiful planet, and no encroaching enemy for months now. Bumblebee should have been at peace. He didn’t know why he still felt locked in combat mode. His joints ached and quivered with strain, shielding armor drawn in tightly until all but the largest seams were invisible.  
  
 **::** ’Bee, yer hurtin’ right now, it’s not a good time. **::**  
  
 **::** I didn’t think it would be with her, but I’m determined, Jazz. Unless you tell me no. **::**  
  
 **::** I’m not the one ta be sayin’ ya can’t have what I’ve got, ‘Bee. But I will tell ya this is wrong. For you and for her. **::**  
  
 **::** Jazz, if you order me to withdraw, I will, but my decision was made the moment Sam refused last night. **::**  
  
His sensors registered the approach of the small femme. He reached a hand down to her and lifted her to his shoulder.  
  
Mikaela leaned against his helm.  
  
“So what’s up, ‘Bee?”  
  
“You know what Jazz and Maggie are attempting?”  
  
The femme nodded her head. Bumblebee’s receptors tingled with the fall of long soft hair brushing his helm.  
  
“Jazz gave me the information for interfacing also, Mikaela.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
Bumblebee waited.  
  
“OH.”  
  
The surge of adrenaline spiked high on his scanners. He lifted his hand to steady the startled girl. He most definitely had her interest.   
  
 **::** ’Bee, don’t do it, mech. Not like this. **::**    
  
 **::** Jazz, let me have this. Please. **::**  
  
Mikaela chuckled and patted his hand, a nervous little movement. “This was the last thing I expected coming out here. I thought maybe you needed a wire tightened or a leaking cable duct taped.”  
  
One large blue optic swiveled in the girl’s direction.   
  
“You’re my friend, Mikaela. Why wouldn’t I ask you?”   
  
Mikaela hesitated, giving him a long searching look, and Bumblebee could have kicked himself for the question. He may as well have dropped a bomb in the middle of a crowded battlefield.   
  
He was still Sam’s Guardian. If she agreed, if he started this, Sam would know. He couldn’t lie to him, or ignore him. He fancied Sam was standing before him, a ghostly image that wavered and shifted like an incomplete holoform, only it was a Sam grown as large as the scout, facing him with a look of such utter misery Bumblebee felt his vents close up.  
  
“Can I think about it, ‘Bee? It’s a big step.”  
  
“Of course. As long as you need.” He trailed one fingerpad over the small frame. “I’ll even let you work on my engine while you consider.”  
  
Mikaela laughed and stretched under his finger, helping him find all the right spots. “You know the way to a girl’s heart, ‘Bee. I’ll give you my answer in a week, I promise.”  
  
 **::** This is a mistake, ‘Bee, **::**  Jazz warned.  
  
 **::** It may well be, **::**  Bumblebee admitted,  **::** but it’s mine to make. **::**  
  
 **::** Don’t hurt her. And that  **is**  an order, mech. **::**  
  
 **::** Never, **::**  the scout swore.  
  
In front of him, the image of Sam bowed his head, tears shimmering on his face before vanishing into the deepening night.  
  
\-------------------------------------------------   
  
"Maggie, can I hold ya?" A soft sigh breathed out against his plates.  
  
"Please." Maggie lifted arms up to him. "Do that thing, with your field, again?"  
  
Large metalloid arms gathered her up, Jazz's movements so careful and gentle, Maggie felt like the most precious thing in the world. A warm tingling sensation moved over her. She shivered and pressed closer against rounded chest plating, her fingers wandering along a seam, her breath fogging his plating.  
  
Jazz stroked his field over her. Processors analyzed, scans and sensors locked, picking up each small sigh, every shiver of her frame; scanners detected the hint of pheromones dispersing into the air. His AI observed closely, pinging him results and an inquiry.  _Compatibility confirmed as long as present parameters are maintained. Further goals of experiment?_  
  
Large fingers moved delicately over the femme, exploring soft hair and softer flesh, receptors registering the flutter of her pulse, the warmth of her body, the rush of blood through veins that sent a flush up under her skin.   
  
This was heat, this was life, in his berth and in his arms, something to fill up the cold and empty space inside of him.   
  
 _Further goals of experiment as follows: Expand parameters and continue testing, maintaining safety protocols for the organic with... let’s say not more than 3 percent probability of damage. Give me an estimate of that kind of damage.  
  
At 3 percent probability, the following types of damage may occur to the organic:  
  
Abrasions and mild bruising: 90 percent  
  
Fractures of arms or legs: 10 percent.  
  
Of that 10 percent: 80 percent would be compound fractures of same, resulting in additional risk factors;  
  
15 percent would be fractures of the vertebral column; resultant spinal cord injury may cause partial to complete paralysis;  
  
5 percent would be fractures of the cranium, resulting in additional risk factors.  
  
In addition, probability of death is statistically significant should spinal cord or cranium fracture prove irreparable.  
  
Holy slag._ Jazz winced, and Maggie snatched her hand away from where she had been exploring sensor nodes under a plate, with very pleasant results.   
  
“Did that hurt? I did it wrong, didn’t I?”   
  
She petted over the gleaming silver plate and risked a glance up at him, guilty and curious and disappointed, a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar. Or a hacker caught just before breaking the mother of all encrypted codes. Jazz glanced down, visor flashing a brilliant blue.  
  
“Maggs, you’re perfect. That was me, needin’ ta rethink the game plan here.”  
  
Soft, too soft. No armor, no protection. He would have to give her that.  _Alright. What’s it gonna take ta get that probability down ta 0 percent?_  
  
“Game plan?” Maggie frowned.  
  
“Mmm.”   
  
 _Recommendation: Additional testing of stress tolerances and implementation of autonomic programming to safeguard subject._  
  
A delay then, and no getting around it, especially not with Ratchet’s latest bellow still fresh in his audials,  _“Smell that? It means you’re hurting her!”_  followed by a chemosensory file nearly flung over the comm at him.  _“You get one whiff of damaged cells and I want you to back off and bring her to me immediately for scanning!”_  
  
Jazz didn’t want to scare her, they had barely begun, but better now than later. “I have ta add in some programmin’ I wasn’t expectin’. I’ll need ta run some tests, take some measurements. I’m hopin’ it won’t slow things down too much.”  
  
 _Begin implementation of new parameters. Increase scanner range to include chemosensory files for breaks in cell membranes of organic. I want 0 percent damage, repeat 0 percent, with no margin of error whatsoever. Clear?_  
  
“Tests.” Maggie poked at one of his headlights then swirled one finger around the glass. “For what?”  
  
 _Don’t say ‘squish factor’, don’t say ‘squish factor’._  Jazz’s vents drew in deeply. “Just some extras I know Ratch will be demandin’, and keepin’ you safe is the priority here, Maggs.”  
  
 _Acknowledged._  The AI responded briskly, poised to begin writing new programming and send the shifting priorities into action, and Jazz would feel them, each and every one.   
  
Below him, Maggie was intent on tracing the sigil on his center chest plating. It was enough to make his circuits twitch and his receptors narrow their focus to those soft fingers that wandered over his plates and unknowingly teased him. Of all the many distractions this experiment was presenting, Maggie was the only one he wanted to deal with.  
  
Jazz carefully drew her up higher, one large hand cupping her aft. Maggie blushed but continued on. “There, right there,” he murmured, his focus finally on her.   
  
 _AI, additional new parameter: Subjects blind until goals reached._  
  
There was a distinct pause, and Jazz smirked. He could feel the AI trip up over that. It wasn't often he relinquished control.  
  
 _Subjects blind,_  his AI finally confirmed.  _No status reports. Results will be hidden until final goal is reached._  
  
There. That would free him up to concentrate on more enjoyable things.   
  
Maggie hummed under her breath and reached for a small gap in his armor. Jazz relaxed, allowing the plating to shift and widen the seams. It shouldn’t be too bad, he decided, he could put the delay to some sort of use, maybe even run some of those tests Ratchet couldn’t get Mikaela to agree to.  
  
Small fingers stroked the seam and slid in to tug experimentally on a sensor filament. Jazz's spark gave a pleasurable pulse.   
  
On the other hand...   
  
One large finger delicately traced the length of Maggie’s leg until it came to rest just at her thigh.   
  
"I think," he bent his head to murmur, mouthplates brushing against the soft hair of the delicate little femme in his arms, "we can find a way to fill up the time."  
  
Maggie quivered under his touch, tilting her head back to see Jazz’s softly glowing visor in the dim light. Her lips curved into a delighted smile. "I can deal with that."  
  
Her purr brought an answering grin from Jazz. "That's my girl."  
  


_tbc_

\---------------------   
  
A/N: My thanks to my lovely betas, [](http://ladydragon76.livejournal.com/profile)[ **ladydragon76**](http://ladydragon76.livejournal.com/) , [](http://lb82.livejournal.com/profile)[ **lb82**](http://lb82.livejournal.com/) , and [](http://chai16.livejournal.com/profile)[ **chai16**](http://chai16.livejournal.com/).   
  
A very special thank you to [](http://quidamling.livejournal.com/profile)[ **quidamling ***](http://quidamling.livejournal.com/), my go-to person for all things Will Lennox, for kicking ideas and helping with scene development, and to [](http://spacegarden.livejournal.com/profile)[ **spacegarden**](http://spacegarden.livejournal.com/)  for helpful advice on food and camping out with guys. ♥♥♥

 


	14. Chapter 13

Notes:  
  
* ~*~*~*~*~ denotes break within a scene.  
*:: denotes comms.  
  
\-------------------   


 

 

**~Chapter 13~**

  
  
It was not the best plan he ever came up with, but overall it was working. The only possible way it could be improved was with anyone other than the human he had chosen.   
  
He envied Blackout for a brief moment. Barricade needed his human to survive; Blackout only needed them for amusement.  
  
It was Starscream who had finally put a stop to the taking of humans, too afraid of drawing attention to their presence. Before that, the enormous mech had kept several of them, amusing himself during the long hours of boredom waiting for word from Starscream to mobilize.   
  
Barricade had observed him playing with his toys. The mech was huge and careless and the humans, tiny and fragile. They never lasted long.   
  
 _Amateur_ , Barricade thought. There was an art to keeping prey alive for long lengths of time, and these humans were more useful as tools than toys.  
  
They were also annoying, and a lot of work.   
  
He watched the young female approach the machine, taking slow steps and quick glances around. He had already scanned the area and hacked the simple machine. The money was there and waiting.   
  
Primus’s aft, did she want someone to take notice? Her posture practically begged for attention.   
  
Barricade growled to himself. This one listened to nothing and no one. Why it hadn’t been strangled in its baby clothes was beyond his logic circuits to fathom. One of his cables extended slowly, quivering at the very thought. The female tested the very limits of his patience at times.   
  
He had only himself to blame in the end. His scanners had failed to detect the human’s obvious instability and no wonder, its brain was constantly bathed in some bizarre hormone soup.  
  
“Amethyst, continue.” Barricade’s engine rumbled a warning.   
  
The teen finally made it all the way to the machine’s interface panel, snatched up the cash, and hurried back to the Saleen. “I told you, my name isn’t Amethyst. It’s Moonstone.”  
  
Barricade muffled his snort behind an engine cough, his cable twitching once then retracting; better not tempt himself. If he hadn’t been so desperately in need...   
  
“You specified ‘Amethyst’ last week, female.”  
  
The slight teen plopped gracelessly into the seat and rolled her eyes. “That was last week. This week my name is ‘Moonstone’.” Her eyes narrowed at the dash. “I order you to comply.”  
  
Dead silence greeted her statement. The girl whined.   
  
“Why can’t you ever answer with, “Yes, Greatness’ or ‘Yes, Oh Divine Goddess’ or ‘I hear and obey, Exalted One’? What’s the use of my own talking car if I don’t get to have any fun with it? Stupid programming.”  
  
Barricade huffed impatiently. It always started that whining sound when its fuel levels were low.   
  
“I will take you to get food, then you will service this vehicle. Acknowledge.” The AI tone he mimicked was bland.   
  
The teen scuffed a worn sandal along the car mat.  
  
“Acknowledge.” The word repeated, tone still bland as a drone, but Barricade’s engine gave an ominous growl.  
  
“Acnowledged, Master,” the girl muttered, and curled up on the seat to sulk. “I never get to have any fun.”  
  
The Saleen’s engine revved, covering his laugh, and Barricade headed to one of the many food buildings that crowded the area, in a good humor once more.   
  
He was still too amused that the female was so easily duped.  _Your name is ‘Master’? Ok, nice to meet you, Master. My name is…_    
  
Cassie, just plain Cassie with a skinny frame and plain brown hair and not even her green eyes were notable. But, it was young, a runaway from home, and hungry. And it could learn.  
  
The Saleen exited the drivethrough and parked in the darkest area of the lot, scanning the surroundings while the human nourished itself.  
  
“Cool. I made a milkcarton.” The female frowned, studying the small container. “’Brown hair, green eyes.’ Why can’t they say I have ‘flowing chestnut curls and emerald green eyes’?”  
  
“Because then it would be a lie?” Barricade responded smoothly in AI voice, his engine huffing malicious humor.  
  
“You’re mean.” The female pouted, dug into the bag of food and poked salted, starchy sticks into her mouth.   
  
“Someday,” ‘Moonstone’ waved her handful of french-fries around, “someday I’ll be rich and famous and beautiful, I’ll go back home, and everyone will be my friend and do everything I tell them too.”  
  
Barricade was pretty sure the female was living in an alternate reality. Or maybe the Disney Channel. Granted, the Decepticon didn’t have much to compare this human with, but clearly this one wasn’t functioning with a full set of processors.  
  
The young female prattled on with her grandiose fantasies and fairy tale dreams until most of her food was finished. She was just starting on a bar of some dark sweet and her ‘I’ll live in a castle and be like a princess!’ monologue, when he cut her off with a dry engine cough and a faintly sneering AI voice.  
  
“You may service me now… Moonbeam. Acknowledge.”   
  
“… Oh, I forgot. Sorry, Master. I mean, Acknowledged, Master.”   
  
Barricade smirked, engine purring. It really was the little things that brought the most joy.   
  
Regardless of her delusions, he planned to keep this simple little princess for a long time to come. She was useful for fueling him and the small frame was remarkably good at keeping him warm. In return he kept her fed, and let her spend a little of the money buying trinkets and baubles and that suited Barricade perfectly. All the better to gild her metal cage. With a little more training up, she would be ideal.  
  
The girl was wiping her hands when she stopped and beamed at the dash. “You said ‘Moonbeam!’ I love that name! I’m keeping it forever!”  
  
… Mostly ideal. Smelters, but she was slow on the uptake. At least she knew how to operate a pump.  
  
The door locks snapped shut. A seatbelt slid out and tightened around the thin frame.   
  
The Saleen rolled out onto the road in search of fuel.  
  
\-------------------------------------------------   
  
“There’s all kinds of ways, really. Standing, sitting, lying down, front to back, face to face.”  
  
Maggie’s hand slipped from her explorations of a large finial down to the plating of his face. Jazz tilted his helm. “And where d’ya like it?”  
  
“Anywhere. Everywhere.” Her hand palmed the warm metal of his face, fingers tracing tiny seams and crevices.   
  
Jazz turned his head until her fingers were touching his mouthplates. “Wanna try?”  
  
“Oh, umm.” Maggie blushed and lowered her eyes, but the wine had done its job. A coy little smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah, why not? I’ve come this far.”  
  
“This far” was Maggie shedding most of her clothes down to tiny scraps of pink lace that clung lovingly to her curves.   
  
“This far” was also a thong that left so little to the imagination, Jazz was torn between scolding her gently for throwing off his scans and utter delight at her boldness.  
  
He was also going to disavow any and all knowledge of the heat being turned up in his quarters.  
  
Maggie drained her wine and raised the glass. “More?”  
  
There was a lot to be said for a glass or two of a nice red, Maggie decided. The lights were dim, the wine was sweet liquid courage, and Jazz’s presence had somehow condensed down from 15 feet and two tons of giant metal alien robot to a deep smooth chocolate-dipped voice somewhere over her head.  
  
The glass was plucked from her fingers. “You,” the chocolate-covered voice told her, “are gonna sleep right through the show t’night.”  
  
Definitely deep dark chocolate seduction, and instead of scolding her about falling asleep during a meteor shower, that chocolaty velvet voice should be licking her like a lollipop.   
  
The large fingers nudging her to lie down didn’t raise more than an eyebrow. Maggie obliged, a little devil of mischief gleaming in her eyes. She stretched onto her belly, blonde hair in a tangle over her shoulders, all long smooth limbs and a pert ass framed with a slender pink thong string.  
  
“Comfortable?”   
  
“Very.” Her hips rolled a luxurious wiggle into the memory foam padding.  
  
Jazz chuckled and leaned down, olfactory sensors sorting and cataloguing. He inhaled the scents layered around her, a floral perfume with citrusy notes, fragrant shampoo and lotion-smoothed skin, wine sweet breath and underneath it all the deeper scent of pheromones, rich and heady.  
  
The AI pinged complaints of scans fritzing and skewed observations and opportunity lost. Jazz waved it off.  
  
 _Record it anyway. Add the data to established baseline for pressure gradients and galvanic skin responses. Mark any outliers as possible aberrations, but keep everything._  
  
Fields were out but there was still a wealth of data to be collected, and with this opportunity laid out so invitingly on his berth, he couldn’t call himself a liaison if this evening was a complete waste of time.  
  
 _Watch and learn._  
  
His helm bent.  
  
Maggie stilled at the touches that weren’t large metal fingers or an even larger hand. These were warmer, softer, flexible. They traced over her shoulders and back, moving down by slow degrees. She shivered when they plucked at the string of her thong. They felt like -  
  
She drew in a quick breath.  
  
Jazz smiled, mouthplates trailing a path over softly rounded twin curves, lingering and touching and tasting.  
  
“You know,” Maggie was having a hard time not wiggling, and an equally hard time not purring out loud, “when you said you wanted to try kissing? This isn’t exactly what sprang to mind.”  
  
“I’m bettin’ that’s not a complaint,” Jazz drawled. Not in the slightest, with that biofield a bright haze around her and those pheromones loading the air.  
  
Maggie could thank all the wine for what happened next.   
  
Her hips lifted in a shameless twitch up.  
  
Jazz’s mouthplates planted a little more firmly and continued delicately exploring.  
  
Maggie blushed and buried her head in her arms. A sound somewhere between a muffled giggle and a low moan emerged.  
  
Jazz’s vocals weren’t muffled at all. They were embedded in a deep satisfied purr and a very masculine chuckle.   
  
\-------------------------------------------------   
  
‘Morale Officer” was never really an official position. That didn’t stop Jazz from claiming it, and right now he was deeply concerned at how fast and far the two had fallen.  
  
He blamed himself for not noticing sooner but in reality all the blame could be laid squarely at Prime’s feet. With a lot of help from Ratchet.  
  
Prime and Ratchet. The two of them separately could cause enough turmoil to send an entire army into a state of panic. Together, they were an unholy chaos.  
  
“I don’t get it, ‘Hide.” Jazz spoke in hushed tones, cradling a very drowsy Maggie against his armor. “I thought Ratchet had things under better control than this.”  
  
Ironhide shifted position as another meteorite appeared in the sky, scanners tracking its progress.  
  
“Got you,” he muttered. “That makes three,” he told the smaller mech, tones equally low, optics pinned on the flare of brightness overhead.   
  
“Noted,” Jazz replied absently. The brightness wavered in its course, appeared to slow, then dropped out of the sky to vanish into the darkness of the foothills.  
  
Ironhide gave a satisfied grunt, turning to give Jazz a look that was both wise and weary. “You didn’t know they were this close?”  
  
Jazz had to admit he didn’t. “Been a little busy lately.”  
  
He looked down at the femme he was holding, oblivious to the bright display taking place in the sky above her.  
  
He touched her hair gently with a fingerpad. Maggie was a soft, warm bit of weight in his arms, and so small, yet every one of his processors felt filled up by her, pushing out every other thought and concern.  
  
Ironhide’s huff was quietly amused. “Yes, I can see that. But still.” An alert pinged on his scanners. Ironhide’s gaze returned to the stars. “Ratchet’s been roaring like a charging gestalt. Listen to his intakes the next time you’re in the MedBay. Scan his spark. You’ll know how close he is then.”  
  
“That’s personal info, mech. If he wanted us ta know-“  
  
“That is intel, Jazz. Since when are you not all over that?”  
  
When, indeed. “Hmm. How about Prime?”  
  
Ironhide grumbled. “False alarm. A lot of metal in that one.” His helm tilted, optics narrowing, scanners searching the expanse of sky. “Prime. He’s a whole different problem. He’s stressed and irritable, but doubtful he’s aware of anything beyond that.”  
  
“Ratchet won’t tell him?”  
  
Ironhide vented a rough snort. “It’ll be a cold day in the Pit when Ratchet tells him anything. He’s convinced himself that Prime needs to make the decision. One of these vorns, he might just wake up and realize he can make one, too.”  
  
Jazz hummed thoughtfully, letting his field curl around Maggie. None of this was new, but Jazz had hoped that a new home and a fresh start would shake things up and let the two mechs finally reach an agreement. Or at least an understanding they could both live with.  
  
Tendrils of bright blue energy drifted in aimless whirls until they found their target and arrowed in, each contact sending them further and deeper into the white biofield. Maggie never woke, only shivered, nudging sleepily against his armor and snugging up closer, just over his spark.  
  
“Recommendations? Suggestions? Or just ding the bell and let’em come out swingin’?”  
  
Ironhide’s mouthplates twitched. “That fight would turn into fragging faster than you could transform, Jazz, but it still wouldn’t solve their problem. More distractions might help.”  
  
Another ping to his scanners; the sky lit up with several glowing trails. One came in behind the rest, fast moving, lower in the sky. Ironhide’s optics pinned and tracked the newcomer.   
  
“The training course is done. Ratchet has equipment nearly ready for the humans to test. No doubt the governing body Prime is dealing with will come up with some new objection as to why the 5,000th compromise we’ve offered isn’t good enough. We have 3 drones that need a systems check so they don’t dig their way through the planet’s core and out the other side. Two are wandering around lost somewhere. Start with all that and go from there.”  
  
“Just might work. I’ll try ta keep a closer optic on them from here on.”  
  
More pings hit their sensor grids almost in unison. Jazz whistle-clicked and dropped his vocalizer into subsonic tones.  _“This bunch is comin’ in low and fast. The other drones have been close ta zone, ‘Hide. Drop the next one in the ocean and a few more in random spots ta throw off any trackers.”  
  
“Acknowledged.”_  
  
An hour came and went as drones were guided to distant landings, the mechs coordinating their movements and flagging locations, rumbling in low Cybertronian, tones so deep they barely registered on human audials.  
  
The hums and clicks and whirrs and occasional deep purrs set up vibrations through armor. Maggie stretched, then squirmed pleasantly, humming appreciation. Jazz chuckled and sent another rolling purr to tease and tweak at the sleepy femme.  
  
Another satisfied grunt as Ironhide watched a meteorite change course, drop out of the sky and disappear.  _“Make that 7 drones down and needing a systems check. They’re headed for the target zone--”_  
  
Ironhide broke off, helm swiveling, his gaze fixing on the house sitting dark and silent. A light switched on in an upstairs room, followed by another downstairs. The door opened and a small figure stepped out.  
  
 _“There is also the not so small matter of Barricade,”_  Ironhide continued quietly, watching Sarah as she approached.  _“He’s still out there, and he’s leaving a trail of injured humans behind him.”_  
  
He pinged a warning and Jazz switched to comms. ::Might not have been him. None of those humans had a mark on ‘em, except for the last one.::  
  
::I got close enough to that last human. It was Barricade. His smell was all over her. He’s too smart to leave a signal trail we can pick up. The only way he’s going to get caught is to throw out a net and catch him.::  
  
Ironhide rumbled a greeting to the small femme as she joined them. “Can’t sleep?”  
  
Sarah shook her head. “I keep worrying about Will.” She smiled up at Jazz and stared openly at Maggie who continued blissfully sound asleep, curled up against Jazz’s chest armor. “Did I miss the shower?”  
  
“We have several hours before dawn. Should be able to spot a few more before then.”   
  
Ironhide held out his hand, laying it flat in front of her. There was enough hesitation for Jazz to realize Ironhide was trying something new.   
  
Almost a minute went by as the femme regarded the metal hand, then looked to Maggie, comfortably tucked up in his arms, then back at that huge grey hand before deciding to step into it.  
  
Sarah settled, a little stiff, slightly awkward, but she was there and resting in the broad palm of her Guardian.  
  
::He hasn’t harmed any of those humans, ‘Hide, just knocked ‘em out.::  
  
::He doesn’t want to raise suspicion. You think he would leave any humans alive if given the choice?::  
  
Ironhide lifted Sarah up, chest high and close to his spark. She reached for his plating to steady herself, gaze fixed on the heavens as more bright streaks lit up the sky.  
  
::The plan is ta capture him.::  
  
::We capture him, then we kill him. That’s my plan.::  
  
The low growl of Ironhide’s engine was warning enough of the Guardian’s displeasure.  
  
Sarah seemed not to notice, hugging her knees and looking up at the stars, the thin material of her nightgown pooled around her feet.  
  
::Prime wants Barricade alive, Ironhide, he’s goin’ ta offer him amnesty.::  
  
:: _Amnesty_.:: Ironhide snorted. ::Barricade is a rabid turbofox. You don’t hold your hand out and expect it not to bite.::  
  
The slight form stirred in his hand, stifling a yawn. Ironhide glanced down.  
  
“You should sleep, Sarah” he rumbled to his charge. “I can take you back to the house. Your young one will be up early, and you have a full day tomorrow.”  
  
“The walls were closing in, Ironhide, I don’t want to go back yet.”  
  
“Then rest here, femme. I will listen for Annabelle.”  
  
Sarah nodded, leaning against a large metal thumb, her eyes beginning the slow blink towards sleep. “He’s alright, isn’t he?” she asked softly.  
  
“The Captain is fine. I monitor him continuously.”  
  
His other hand curled around her, sheltering against the cool night air.  
  
Jazz watched with some envy as Ironhide’s field hovered for an instant, then wrapped tightly around the human, sinking deep into Sarah’s biofield. His own field still took much too long. The Guardian made his appear effortless.  
  
Ironhide’s hum was a steady croon, harmonies rose and fell in soothing rhythms, a lullaby for his small and troubled charge. His hand was gentle on her, and warm. Sarah was asleep within moments.  
  
::Amnesty or no, if Barricade makes a move towards my charges, there won’t be enough left of him to salvage.::  
  
::Metal’s always worth salvaging, my mech.::  
  
A shiver ran through his circuits as the coldest optics Jazz had ever seen lifted to his.  
  
::Not if it’s vaporized, Jazz.::  
  
Jazz’s gaze dropped from those icy optics to the femme now sleeping in Ironhide’s hold, dwarfed by the huge grey hands that held and protected her. He lowered his helm in a respectful nod. ::Guardian.::  
  
And having seen firsthand the carnage a vengeful Guardian could wreak, he wisely let the matter drop.  
  
\-------------------------------------------------   
  
 **Cybertron – Distant Past**  
  
He paced down the large open street, nodding to a familiar mech here, a brief smile for a friend over there, and seemingly oblivious to the others who stopped and bowed low and murmured greetings.   
  
The Prime was passing by.  
  
Not just any Prime. This was a Prime who was young and powerful. A Prime who fought battles and won. A Prime who would restore order and peace and bring the rebels and malcontents to swift justice. Energon would flow through the streets and a new Golden Age would dawn for Cybertron.  
  
A few bolder mecha pressed closer, calling out well wishes and casting covetous glances at the tall imposing figure. This was also a Prime who lacked a berthmate, and rumor had it he was open to a young and vigorous mech to fill that lack. A life of ease and pampered luxury awaited the one fortunate enough to catch the Prime’s optic.  
  
The Prime continued on his way, trying not to roll his optics as he went. Optimus Prime was having a hard time ignoring the rumor mill these days.  
  
A large warrior class mech followed the Prime in his walk, remaining the strict half step behind that protocol demanded. That didn’t stop him from snorting indecorously through large nasal plates. Warm air puffed out in a cloud around his helm.  
  
“They’re out in force today, aren’t they.”  
  
Optimus muffled a sigh and kept on walking. “If I ignore them, do you think they’ll just go away?”  
  
“Hasn’t worked yet.”   
  
The warrior pointedly stared at a mech attempting to maneuver into the Prime’s path, then casually shook out one large plasma cannon and let it charge with an ominous whine.  
  
The mech blanched and hurriedly moved back. The warrior gave him an evil smirk as they passed, and the Prime tried desperately to keep his mouthplates straight.  
  
“Remind me to raise your pay, Ironhide,” Prime murmured to his bodyguard.  
  
Ironhide chuckled and retracted his cannon, patting it fondly. “The pleasure is all mine, Optimus.”  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The past was not simply going to fade away as Ratchet had hoped. The past had been left hanging, and that loose end needed tying up. That was all it was, the medic was convinced, only half listening to the voices around him, drifting on a pleasant haze of highgrade and a single deep voice that set his audials buzzing and stroked his plating and rumbled right into his core.  
  
He didn’t need predictive algorithms to know it was coming. He could see it in Prime’s optics, felt it in his own spark. This final dangling thread of their past tugged at them both. It needed to be done and finished and properly closed, then the Prime could move on and choose a berthmate, someone suitable, someone proper.   
  
Someone not him.  
  
Laughter erupted in the room. Ratchet joined in, a little late, looking up to see Prime’s gaze on him, intent, compelling. ::May we talk later?::   
  
Tonight. It would be tonight. Then the past would finally be the past.  
  
Ratchet nodded and reached for another highgrade with fingers that trembled slightly.  
  
They might have been the only two mechs on Cybertron for all the activity around them. Prime walked the medic to his quarters through silent and deserted halls, stopping just short of entering as Ratchet turned to him, helm tilted, listening to the Matrix.   
  
“It’s quieter, that’s a good sign.” The medic glanced away at the sound of lone footfalls to see Jazz at the end of the cross hallway, headed for his quarters. ‘You think he and Ironhide..?”   
  
Prime gave an amused hum. “Possibly. Ironhide’s always worked up after a sparring session and some good highgrade.”  
  
“While you are getting some much needed relief. The Matrix has settled considerably, Optimus, so why not take it a step further? The High Council won’t wait forever.” Ratchet placed a hand on the large chestplates. “You could do far worse than choose Ironhide. He cares nothing for power or position.”  
  
“I’m not ready to choose anyone, I’ve told them that.” Prime’s hand covered Ratchet’s. “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about it.”  
  
The medic’s hand on him was warm, and Prime felt a burn inside that wasn’t the Matrix. A finger lifted Ratchet’s chin until he could look into highgrade brightened optics.   
  
“I never forgot that kiss you gave me,” Prime murmured. “My turn now, I think.”   
  
Ratchet stroked a finger along the edge of the chest seam. “Is this the high grade talking or unfinished business?”  
  
“Maybe a little of both,” Prime admitted.  
  
“Those are terrible reasons.” Ratchet moved closer, a wry set to his mouthplates. “And this is a terrible idea, Optimus.”  
  
“Probably. Stop me anytime.” Optimus smiled, and lowered his helm.   
  
Ratchet didn’t even have time to snort before Prime’s lips met his, and whatever reason he had left vanished in a haze of heat and tangling fields and Prime’s mouth moving on his.  
  
Unfinished business be fragged, Optimus was done calling himself a liar. Fingers were curling into his backplates, a warm frame was pressing urgently against him and the burn in Prime’s chest was now a blaze. He threw the last of caution to the winds of Cybertron and let his field flare out and engulf the friend in his arms who was now a lover,  _his_  lover.   
  
Ratchet’s fingers dug into large armored backplates. Optimus pulled him into a hard embrace and harder kiss that sent waves of liquid heat swamping Ratchet’s core.   
  
They hit resonance with a force that made them both shudder and groan. Fields merged and sank in deep, hot and writhing, driving them on, making them wild.  
  
Prime’s grip tightened, his growl vibrated right up the medic’s backstruts. Ratchet moaned with it, processors staggering under the double onslaught of high grade and lust.   
  
Another moment and Prime would have taken him, on the floor, against the wall, it hardly mattered.  
  
A vocalizer cleared itself noisily. They froze.  
  
Ratchet’s helm landed against his chestplates with a soft  _thunk_. Prime muttered an oath.  
  
He eased away from the medic and turned to find Ironhide standing in the hallway with his arms folded over his chest, giving them his best, “What the frag do you think you’re doing” look. Behind him, the door to the medic’s quarters opened with a soft hiss. The warm presence at his back vanished.  
  
Prime sighed, frustrated, and began the long walk to his own quarters. “Don’t start. I already know the book of rules, Ironhide. Chapter and verse.”  
  
Ironhide snorted and shook his helm, falling in beside him.  
  
“Just be glad it was me who came along, instead of someone who can’t keep their vocalizer locked down. If you insist on making your berthmates public, at least pick someone who can defend themselves in a fight. A frontliner, maybe. Shards, pick me or Jazz. We stand a better chance of surviving assassination attempts than Ratchet. I give him a decacycle or two at most before a ‘Con off-lines him.”  
  
“I’m not making anything public.”  
  
“Right. And you weren’t about to frag him right there in the hallway either. Primus Below, you were only two steps from his quarters. How much did you have to drink?”  
  
“I wasn’t overcharged. Ratchet - Ratchet probably was,” Prime conceded. “We were talking, I was remembering… probably more than I should. Sometimes old history dies hard.”  
  
Ironhide raised an optic ridge, his look appraising. “Sometimes you need to leave the past in the past, Optimus. The ‘Cons will be gunning for anyone who’s important to you. If you care about Ratchet,  _don’t_  turn him into a target.”  
  
Ironhide left him then, and Prime drained two cubes of highgrade that would never get him overcharged and sat in his own quarters, alone.  
  
He’d been alone before, but not like this. Not for vorns had he been like this. Not since Ratchet.  
  
But Orion was now Optimus, and Ratchet wasn’t called away to vanish into another city. He was just 3 hallways over, the last door on the right. Prime wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse, or even what the fallout of this night might be. He wanted the medic in his berth, but between the High Council and the Decepticons, the cost they were likely to pay was high.  
  
Prime pinched his nasalplate and reached for another cube. Recharge wasn’t likely to come soon. His spark throbbed, his systems still churned with the burn and ache of frustrated passion, but the Matrix remained a calm and steady presence, and for that Optimus was utterly thankful.  
  
\-------------------------------------------------   
  
How, how had they reached this point? Step by slow steady step, the not so gentle voice of reason was fond of pointing out.  
  
Optimus sat in his office, pinching at nasalplating and schooling his tones to infinitely patient instead of the full-throated growl he was contemplating.  
  
“General, I assure you…”-- _for the 150th time_ \-- “the Shard is safe. The Decepticons will have to go through  _me_  to reach it.” In the most literal sense.   
  
“Not good enough, Mr. Prime,” the tinny voice on the other end of the primitive communication device snapped at him.  
  
“Just ‘Prime,’ General.”  
  
The voice ignored him and continued on with a list of demands.   
  
Optimus prayed to Primus for patience and reached for relief.   
  
::Ratchet, are you free later?::  
  
::Free for what?:: The medic sounded harried.  
  
::High grade? Talk? Go for a drive? Anything.:: Anything to take his mind off these recalcitrant human leaders and their ridiculous demands.   
  
A small figure hovered over the bright yellow Camaro parked in the medbay, overalls stained with coolant and hydraulic fluid doing nothing to hide rounded curves. “I’m doing it right, aren’t I?” Mikaela asked, fingers pushing back a lock of black hair fallen from its properly pinned back bun. She sounded a little worried and a lot interested.  
  
Bumblebee revved his engine at her. She laughed and bent under his hood again. The Camaro’s radio crackled and sputtered out a snatched phrase. “Mission Accomplished!”  
  
“Smart ass,” floated out from under the bright yellow hood.  
  
Letting her work on him was both inspired on the Autobot’s part and very nearly the robotic equivalent of foreplay given Bumblebee’s intent. That intent was raising faint alarms in the medic, but still, they were both consenting adults of their two different species, and who was Ratchet to interfere? He was lending oversight, not chaperoning.  
  
Ratchet spared them a brief glance before continuing his adjustments to several small devices lined up on the workbench, carefully considering his reply. Prime’s request was its own cause for concern. Thin extensions from metal fingertips probed at the inner workings. A multi-legged drone chirred and flitted from one to the next, sparks flying as it soldered on small dark panels.  
  
::Ratchet?::  
  
::We’ll have company here,:: the medic finally replied. ::Bumblebee and Mikaela. But I have plenty of highgrade.::  
  
“…Yes, General, I understand your concerns. It might be helpful for you to consider that our efforts are also on your behalf…” ::A drive then?:: Prime touched his chestplates, fingerpads rubbing at the aching pressure. Primus, had it really been that long? He paused, a little appalled at the number of vorns his processors were tallying.  
  
::I don’t know why we haven’t done this sooner. Ratchet, bring the highgrade. We can meet at the training course, or head out into the desert somewhere, away from Base..::  
  
Ratchet didn’t even hear the rest. He stood as though locked in stasis, optics narrowed, intakes hissing, systems snarled and tangling in on themselves. Not a berth.  _Never_  a berth. For too many vorns, for far too long, he’d had crates digging into his backplates and dirt grinding into his seams, and now his course crystallized before him, born out of resentment and pain and anger. One did not refuse the Prime, but Ratchet was already first in so many ways, one more hardly mattered. Optimus was not one to be pushed, but the medic was done.   
  
Ratchet replied with icy calm tones and hands that trembled. ::I’m afraid I can’t, Optimus. I’ll leave the highgrade in your quarters. Good recharge to you.::  
  
Gauntlet thrown.  
  
\-------------------------------------------------   
  
In the end it wasn’t the Autobots that flushed Barricade out, it was the humans. Too many reports of a suspicious vehicle seen near ATM robberies coupled with a sharp-eyed station attendant recognizing his slave as a runaway and he was finally forced into open flight.  
  
Barricade snarled. A cable snapped ominously. They were closing in fast, he needed every scrap of energy to outrace them, and even the slight weight of his slave would slow him down.  
  
He dumped her out onto the pavement without a second’s hesitation, warning her off, but the twit had the audacity to grab a hold of his door frame and snivel at him, trying to scramble back in.  
  
“B- But, Master,  _please_!” The slave couldn’t even beg prettily. That nasal whine set every one of his circuits on edge.  
  
“Leave!” The order was punctuated by the smack of a thin cable across a skinny little aft, and if Barricade had any time to spare, he would have pinned the idiot over his seat and delivered the whipping she so richly deserved and should have had years ago.   
  
The female howled and clutched at his door handle as the cable landed another stinging swat. Barricade followed it up with a shock from the metal handle that had her stumbling back. The door cracked open. Coins and paper spat out onto the pavement beside the whimpering femme. One of his probes extended from a headlight and feinted at her, sharp spikes gleaming a deadly threat. “NOW.”   
  
She flinched from his probe and scrambled for the money, snuffling loudly. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you being so mean? You’re my _car_!”  
  
Barricade sneered. “You are pathetic and weak, fleshling. Approach me again and I’ll kill you where you stand.”  
  
“Master! Come back! Master!  _MASTER_!”   
  
The Saleen spun out onto the highway in a cloud of dust, not even the squeal of tires and the angry roar of the engine able to drown out that irritating shriek.  
  
It  _would_  be the Autobot Second that had picked up the police transmissions.   
  
Barricade snarled and swerved around another car. That was one mech he had given a wide and cautious berth, both on Cybertron and after being left stranded on this wretched mud ball. Jazz was older and more than matched him in skills and ability. Stealth, hacking, sabotage, reconnaissance, he did it all, and with an expertise that had earned him Barricade’s respect.   
  
Barricade growled and swung around yet another slow-moving Earth vehicle, cursing as more warnings erupted. His joints were strained, he ached all over, parts of him were starting to wear out. Fluids were draining from worn joints and seams, his tires were losing pressure, his brakes all but nonexistent, and with no self-repair maintaining his frame, he didn’t want to think about what else was ready to fail. Dozens of points pulsed a deep angry red across his sensor web. He had to slow down soon or risk a system wide shutdown.  
  
He snarled viciously as scanners picked up the Autobots again, much closer this time. Trapped in his alt-mode, he wouldn’t even be able to put up a fight.   
  
A sudden crackle of static through his comm startled him and he swerved, tires squealing a protest as he skidded across the road.  
  
::Barricade, I know you can hear me. Pull over and we’ll talk. Prime is offering you amnesty, if you come in with me now.::  
  
The Autobot Second. Barricade ignored him. He’d had more than enough of the one tyrant, why should he believe the Prime would be any better?  
  
A new warning sounded, another Autobot approaching from his left side and coming in fast. He was about to be cut off. Barricade rapidly scanned the road maps in his files, forcing down the sharp surge of panic and focusing on the road ahead. The shoulder was just wide enough and he was about to overtake a tractor-trailer. He could pass it on the right, use it as a shield, and after that the road branched again.   
  
With luck, he could get past the Autobot on his left, turn off onto the other road and outrun his pursuit. It would take a great deal of luck, he acknowledged grimly. They looked to be in far better shape than he was. The gas pedal pressed to the floorboards, his engine roared, and the Saleen jumped ahead.  
  
::Barricade! You don’t need to run! We won’t kill you!::  
  
Of course you won’t, he sneered to himself. They were Autobots, he was a Decepticon. All they had done for millions of vorns was slaughter each other. They must think he was short a logic circuit or two -   
  
::Look out!:: another voice shouted, and Barricade gave a hoarse cry and slammed on his brakes. Focused entirely on his pursuit, he had failed to notice the tractor-trailer slowing and pulling over onto the shoulder. Too late. His worn tires smoked and painted the pavement black. His brakes screeched, scraping down to bare metal in an instant. He spun his wheel desperately, slamming into the back of the truck at an angle and careened off again, spinning around and crashing into the guard rail on the shoulder. It crumpled at the impact and he was airborne for a moment before landing with a sickening  _thud_  and rolling down the embankment.  
  
He screamed as joints snapped like twigs and his frame bent, forcing energon to spew violently from his tank. Not since Megatron had he felt such agony. Metal was rending and tearing, the ground kept smashing into him over and over as he rolled, fracturing worn metal plates and splitting them apart. Rocks and debris were forced inside with each impact, shredding wires and severing cables, tearing him up inside.   
  
He impacted upside down on the final roll, screaming as his roof crushed down to the seats, and lay there, a hulking mass of ruined metal, spent and broken. His backups were failing. Every system was locking down into emergency stasis.   
  
Barricade was conscious just long enough to hear Jazz’s voice calling for help before he was forced into shut down and everything went blessedly dark.

 _tbc_  
  
\----------------  
  
A/N: My thanks as always to my betas, [](http://ladydragon76.livejournal.com/profile)[ **ladydragon76**](http://ladydragon76.livejournal.com/)  and [](http://quidamling.livejournal.com/profile)[ **quidamling ***](http://quidamling.livejournal.com/) for batting ideas, helping with scene flow, and beta work. So very much appreciated, hun~ ♥♥♥


	15. Chapter 14

Notes:  
  
*~*~*~*~*~ denotes break within a scene.  
  
\-------------------   


 

**~ Chapter 14 ~**

  
  
Tech Sergeant Robert Epps was lounging back in one of the visitor’s chairs when Lennox entered the small office, slammed the door shut and threw a folder on the desk. It skidded across the top, the contents spilling out and onto the seat of the chair to land in a flurry of white sheets on the floor.  
  
Epps sat up. “Will? What the fuck, man…” He trailed off, watching his CO. Lennox stared at the mess of papers, lips thin and eyes hard, a muscle working in his jaw.  
  
 _Uh oh_. He knew that face. Something had just gone straight to hell. “Will –?“ he began again, and stopped once more when Lennox turned on his heel, carefully locked the door of the office, and then slammed his fist into the wall next to the door.   
  
“ _FUCK!_ ”   
  
“Shit,” Epps breathed softly. “What’s the bad news, Captain?”  
  
Will was gritting teeth and barely hanging onto what was left of his temper. “ _That,_ ” he snarled, pointing to the mess of papers strewn across the desk. “I don’t know who’s running this show anymore, but our newest orders are not to kill that thing. We’re supposed to fucking _capture_  it now!”  
  
“Man, are they outta their minds? That’s bull shit. They saw the tape of that thing attacking us, what the hell we got that’s gonna work against some big metal sand monster stalking us from underground?”   
  
Will snarled, a flash of teeth and mouth contorting with rage. “Those fucktards have their heads so far up their asses they're seeing daylight.”  
  
Epps moved around to the scattered papers and began scooping them back up and onto the desk. Will reached for a map and winced, cradling his hand and snorting at his own idiocy because sweet  _fuck_  was it ever starting to hurt.  
  
Epps handed him the map. “You need to ice that.”  
  
“Later. Let’s go over this first.” Will scanned the latest set of coordinates and highlighted them on the map, then studied it, brows drawn, slowly flexing his bruised hand. Five red circles. Their target area was expanding.  
  
Epps placed the last of the papers in a neat pile and watched the Captain bring out his dog tags. “Tell your robot watchdog we could use some help with that big bug out there.”   
  
“Guardian,” Will replied absently, and tapped the dog tags. “Alright, Ironhide, coordinates coming your way.”  
  
“Copy that, Captain.”   
  
Bobby grinned. “Sounds just like one of us, don’t he? Big guy sure learns fast.”  
  
Will smiled and shook his head, frown easing as he read off the numbers. Even sore and thoroughly pissed off at the higher ups, Ironhide’s gruff voice brought a sense of relief. They had an ace in the hole, they just might make it out of this alive.   
  
“Latest intel puts sightings in these areas, Ironhide, but hell if there’s a pattern we can decipher. It went after fuel, any kind of oil and gas reserves, ripped up some vehicles, and once just came up for air and scared the shit out of some poor camel drivers.”  
  
Epps looked over the map and slowly shook his head. “We’re getting spread thin. Maybe that ain’t a pattern, but I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”  
  
“You are covering a much wider area, Sergeant Epps, because Skorponok is following his base programming. Absent a Master, a drone has no instructions, no direction or purpose.” Ironhide’s voice rumbled distinctly through Will’s tags. “Analysis complete, Captain. Based on these coordinates, it is simply wandering aimlessly until the need for fuel brings it close to human habitation. It then scavenges whatever it can find. It will continue to avoid direct confrontations unless cornered. Focus your search on fuel depots. Once it comes above ground, an assault with suitable weapons should be able to take it out without too much trouble.”  
  
“Oh man,” Epps muttered.   
  
Will grimaced. “Yeah, ‘Hide. About that.” He cleared his throat. “Our orders have changed, we’re to capture it now, not kill.”  
  
Both men startled at the distant  _BOOM_ , followed by a growl that rolled like thunder.  
  
“Mother  _fucker_.” Bobby stared at Will’s dog tags.  
  
Will took a slow, deep breath. “Please tell me that wasn’t the barn you just blew up, Ironhide.”  
  
“No,” Ironhide grumbled tersely.  
  
Without thinking, Lennox reached up to rub his temple. He grunted and cradled his hand back against his chest with a sigh. “Then what was-”   
  
“I will have the fragging tree replaced, you have my word,” Ironhide rumbled impatiently. “Now why do you want it alive, for what purpose?”  
  
“Hey, do you think I have the slightest bit of say in any of this shit?” Will snorted back, because even if Ironhide never saw the inside of Hoover Dam, any of the Autobots could guess why the government might want another live specimen of a Cybertronian. Welcome to Lennox’s new home, between a rock, a hard place, and  _IRONHIDE_  - Fan-fucking-tastic.   
  
“Seriously. Ironhide... I... I don't have time for this,” Will muttered, evasive and he knew it. “We go out early tomorrow."   
  
His Guardian voiced his irritation with a rough growl, but then quieted. "Will, you know I need to inform Prime about this."  
  
Epps chopped his hand through the air. “No way, if the Brass finds out you slipped intel...”  
  
Will shook his head with a heavy sigh and decided to just throw his lot in with the only one who seemed to care that he made it home in something other than a body bag. “Go ahead, Ironhide, but keep it quiet as long as you can, things could get ugly, for both sides.”  
  
Of all things, Ironhide decided to hum softly, and Will stared down at his tags.   
  
Bobby flopped back and let his head clock the back of his chair. “As long as they can? Will, once this gets out you’re taking it right up the ass, you know that, right?”  
  
“Yeah.... bite the bed sheets is about all I can do,” Will snorted and frowned back down at the map.   
  
“I will do my best to ensure no one rapes you, Will,” Ironhide said.   
  
The fact that Ironhide understood the joke, that he played along, and that he sounded so fucking earnest with his damn deep voice and accent - it was too much. Lennox just cackled and Epps nearly lost it, too. “Well, thanks, ‘Hide, I think...” Will chuckled as he quieted down, grateful that Ironhide had managed to break the tension, intentionally or not. “But really, we gotta get some rack.”   
  
Ironhide hummed again, “Agreed, rest well and report in when you return tomorrow.”  
  
Both men nodded, then glanced at each other for essentially gesturing while on the telephone. Bobby stood and stretched his shoulders while Will considered for a moment then finally asked, “Ironhide? How’s Sarah holding up?”  
  
“She misses you, Will. Very much,” Ironhide answered, never one to mince words.  
  
Growling frustration, Lennox ground his jaw. “Fuck, I wish I was there,” he said, even as he shrugged apologetically at Epps for getting into this with him still there. But Bobby was patient enough and they shared a commiserating look. “Just, I... tell the ladies I love them, alright?”  
  
“I will,” Ironhide replied, and then with a little chirp, the tags went silent.   
  
Will grunted and flexed his hand before looking seriously at his subordinate. “Alright, we got business. Assemble the teams for a briefing just before we head out tomorrow.”  
  
“On it,” Bobby replied, then glared at Will and poked at his hand just hard enough to make his point. “Meantime, ice, and you need a fucking drink already.”  
  
“You’re not telling me this,” Will ground out through the wince, then gave Epps a half-hearted glare. “One. One drink. Do not tell me whose, and don’t tell me where. I need at least the pretense of plausible deniability.”  
  
The grin Bobby gave was his best ‘make the ladies melt’ smile. “Silent as the grave, man. Go grab some ice and by the time you get back, the brewski fairy will have worked magic.”  
  
\-------------------------------------------------   
  
He was too tense. His plates locked down tight, refusing to grant access to the small roving hands that stroked metal and teased at seams. He stared down at the small form on his chest. Mikaela was more than willing, pushing into his touches as he stroked soft skin, trying to return the favor with warm hands and soft kisses over hard metal armor.   
  
Mikaela was looking at him, large eyes and a troubled expression. “Is- is something wrong, ‘Bee?”  
  
“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he lied, and released a cable to distract her. Mikaela moaned at the delicate probe between her thighs, reaching a hand down to guide it in.  
  
Bumblebee strained, fighting a stubborn field that bucked and twisted. Bright tendrils of energy flared and recoiled from contact with the soft glowing bio-organic field as though burned. He wanted this, but it seemed a losing battle.  
  
On his chest, Mikaela was panting and shivering, writhing with each thrust. His cable was soaked with her fluids, fingers clawed at his chestplating, and in desperation Bumblebee opened them. They weren’t synched, but it would be enough to gain release.  
  
He arched up from the berth when she touched his spark, a sharp bark of sound from his vocalizer. His spark overloaded, the pulses rough and uneven, Mikaela’s touch more pain than pleasure. He heard her cries through the roaring in his audials. It was done, he had made it work, for him and her.   
  
Bumblebee shuttered his optics, weary and relieved, and let the pleasure-pain finish grinding through his systems.  
  
Next time, next time would be better.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Most nights Sam prayed to anyone who would listen that his sleep would be deep, dreamless and peaceful. Tonight was not one of those nights. Tonight, no one was listening.  
  
He moved from one nightmare to the next, running, stumbling, falling, getting back up to run again, chased by a monster who reached to the skies. He writhed and screamed on a huge metal hand, pricked and scored by razor sharp claws, bright red blood dripping over old scars that crisscrossed his body. A deep cruel voice laughed above him and called him ‘pet.’  
  
He begged and cried and choked on his screams, pleading for Bumblebee to come save him, and Bumblebee did. Bright yellow Guardian faced down gleaming silver monster, and Sam was in his hands and where he belonged, with his Autobot, and he was safe, safe.  
  
“‘Bee, you’re too hot,” Sam mumbled. He tossed and turned against heated plates, and sighed relief when they cooled down. A moment later, he shivered and curled up in a ball. “C-cold, why are you s-so cold?” he complained through numb lips and chattering teeth.  
  
The nightmare turned dream took another turn. Sam moved through the corridors and large hallways of the Base and entered the Medbay. The ruined hulk of Barricade sat in the corner, sullen and silent. A reddish glow from shattered headlights sparked at Sam’s presence. Sam shrank back. Another of the monsters come to hunt him down.  
  
“Ratchet, kill him,  _kill him_!”   
  
“I told you, Sam. You could have avoided all this if you just said ‘yes.’” Ratchet arched a metal browridge and waved a hand that turned into a giant saw, slicing into the monster. A shriek rose from the wrecked Saleen. Sam gasped and covered his ears and fled from the Medbay, straight into Bumblebee’s quarters.  
  
Sam’s hands clenched. He shouldn’t be here. They were… they were about to….  
  
Bumblebee lifted Mikaela, bright yellow plating separating to reveal the brilliant blue star in the center of his chest.  
  
One of Bumblebee’s cables was coiling between her legs. It moved with a rolling, thrusting motion, shiny and slick with lubricant. Mikaela squirmed, moaning and rocking to Bumblebee’s thrusts. Sam panted, hand fumbling at his zipper, watching her fuck herself on that thick cable.  
  
God, god. He couldn’t look away. Bumblebee, his Autobot…  
  
Bumblebee held Mikaela to his chest. She reached for the bright blue glow and the glow  _reached back_. Sam gasped when it surrounded her, covered her, penetrated deep, and Mikaela was nothing more than a swirling white haze of light pressed to Bumblebee’s spark.  
  
“It should have been you,” Prime intoned.  
  
“I couldn’t,” Sam whispered, staring up at his Autobot, “I can’t.”  
  
Bumblebee’s helm fell back; he uttered a high pitched metallic moan, metal frame jerking, the spark in his chest now a halo of expanding blue light, a small sun, a nova. The light spilled from his chest, washing over yellow metal, then rolling on to engulf Sam in a glowing haze. He groaned and dropped to his knees. Blue fire filled his vision, energy pulsed through his veins, nerve endings sang with the touch of his Guardian, recognizing, welcoming him. He was in large metal hands, writhing again, this time with pleasure. Sam opened his mouth to scream it all out and beg for more,  _don’t stop, don’t ever stop, ‘Bee!_  
  
Sam jolted awake, stunned and blinking, the glyphs on his hands itched unbearably. He was in his quarters, in his bed, alone, and Bumblebee, Bumblebee was with….   
  
A miserable whimper caught in his throat. He rolled up in his blankets and shivered, scratching and scratching at the marks on his hands.  
  
On the other side of the Base, Bumblebee lifted his helm sharply, tilting into a listening pose. “Sam?” he called out to the darkened room. Mikaela stirred sleepily across his chestplates.  
  
“’Bee? What is it, what’s wrong?”  
  
Within his tightly locked plates, his spark surged, his field flickered, casting about for a presence that wasn’t there.  
  
 _Sam_.   
  
Large fingers petted gently over the girl. “Nothing, it’s nothing, Mikaela.”  _Not nothing._  
  
Spark and field continued to respond to shadowy images, sensations, feelings, a small form in his hand that wasn’t Mikaela. Bumblebee moaned silently as the form reached for him. Pleasure smoothed like silk over his hard-used circuits.  
  
The contact, communication, whatever it was, began to fade. Only the sounds of his ventilations and Mikaela’s quiet breathing remained in the silence of his quarters.  
  
Bumblebee remained motionless, audials boosted, every sensor alert, but it did not repeat.   
  
\-------------------------------------------------   
  
Bumblebee watched Mikaela circle Ratchet like a tiny satellite, hovering, ready to assist. The large circular saw sliced neatly through a ruined armor plate. The medic reformed his hand and peeled the chunk of metal away to reveal an access port, and Mikaela slid another feeder line in.  
  
“Slow, very slow, only a few drops per minute,” he heard Ratchet instruct. “His systems cannot handle too much at one time.”  
  
“Is he… is he still alive?” A human voice whispered into the quiet, Sarah, just now seeing Barricade for the first time. It was a testament to how badly injured Barricade was that Ironhide would allow her anywhere near him.  
  
“He is.” Ironhide’s tone made it clear he considered that unfortunate, though his battle AI barely twinged at the Decepticon’s presence, its threat assessment down to zero.  
  
The Guardian stood with feet planted wide, arms folded across his chest, glowering at the battered Saleen. Sarah was next to him and Annabelle was in her preferred spot, perched right on top of one of Ironhide’s huge feet.  
  
Bumblebee watched them, too, caught between jealousy, envy and admiration. Annabelle was already securely snugged into the Guardian’s field. Ironhide’s field drifted, tendrils outstretched, then folded lazily around Sarah’s small form to branch and spread into her biofield. Pale blue shimmered as it blended into white, resonances almost synched, nearly perfect.  
  
Sarah seemed not to notice, but she stepped closer to her Guardian and rested a hand on leg armor.  
  
How did Ironhide manage it so easily? Why did his own field fight him?  
  
Bumblebee huffed and looked away, grumbling and uneasy. Something else to ask the medic; that and Sam and what happened last night, and the failures were chafing at him.  
  
A vocalizer cleared itself. A large foot shifted, a clink of metal against concrete.  
  
“Any progress?” Prime finally asked.  
  
“He resists.” Ratchet straightened from his scans, weary optics glancing over the small group. “His self-repair alone cannot deal with this amount of damage. If I cannot gain access to his systems, he’ll offline.”  
  
“Your medical overrides?”  
  
“Negative. Purged as soon as they are introduced. He has a failsafe against hacking too, Jazz tried.”  
  
Jazz tipped his helm in a nod to the Decepticon. “Like he saw me comin’. Score one for him.”  
  
Prime seemed to slump, a hand lifting to rub at the chestplating just over his spark. “I had hoped for better news. Is there nothing more to be done for him?”  _Can I not save one of them, just one?_  
  
Ratchet turned away from the pain in optics raised to his, ignoring the sharp flare of distress from Prime’s field.  
  
“I have one last thing I can attempt. Force a shutdown of his systems and bypass the safeties to gain access. While his systems are offlining, he won’t be able to stop me. Once I’m in, I can bring him back online and get to work.”  
  
“Risks?”  
  
“He’s so badly damaged, I may not be able to bring him back.” Ratchet glanced over the assembled group again, optics narrowed. “I didn’t ask for a slagging audience.”  
  
Those baleful optics settled on Bumblebee. The scout almost jumped when a finger stabbed at him and the medic barked out a demand.   
  
“Why are you here?”  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~   
  
Barricade felt slow and sluggish, only half-aware. Why was he here?  _Where_  was here?  
  
An accident, that much he remembered, and now every system he possessed was throwing up warnings of some kind. Severe damage, imminent shut-down, off-lined, or destroyed completely, Primus be damned, how was he still alive?  
  
He reached for more memories while processors sifted gingerly through damaged systems, trying to activate, online, repair, anything, but he was awkward and clumsy. He fumbled for control and something gave with a sharp stab of pain. A nightmare of memories flooded his consciousness.  
  
The snap of sharp claws signaled for the whips and he was strung up to hang suspended between the posts. He read it all in the tyrant’s cold optics, the glint of fangs as mouthplates curled back in a snarl of disgust. This time the punishment would be severe, and a lesson for the others. Failure was not an option with Megatron, ever.  
  
Legs spread wide, shoulder joints wrenched back, metal groaned and creaked under the strain. The members of his team were already trussed up and babbling frantic pleas for mercy. The whips sang as they worked, deadly electronic hums that ended with a sharp crackle-snap as they impacted with the helpless, writhing mechs. Glowing ends buried into metal armor and discharged their current, sparks fountaining in streams of fiery red light. The babbling ended in screams, the screams were silenced one by one, each mech succumbing to the torture, overstrained systems giving up and dropping into stasis.  
  
Barricade’s faceplates twisted, his frame wracked with pain, shaking with the blows, but he remained silent, refusing to beg. The whips cut through armor and deep into his protoform, and still he refused.  
  
Megatron ordered a halt. A large hand gripped his jawplates, his helm was tilted up. The Warlord studied the young Hunter, a slow grin spreading when Barricade bared his fangs and glared his defiance.  
  
“Bring me  _my_  whip,” came the order. Megatron shook out his whip and purred in his audial, sensual, seductive, the voice of a lover. “I’m going to break you, young Barricade, and I will enjoy your screams as I do it. And when I am through, you will crawl to me on your belly and beg my forgiveness, knowing that I hold your life in my hands, and you will be  _mine_.”   
  
One claw stroked Barricade’s faceplate in a slow caress. A shudder went through the Hunter.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
“Why are you here?”  
  
Bumblebee’s vocalizer threatened to short circuit as he garbled out something about Sam and fields and feeling something strange and--  
  
“Is he  _dying_? Are  _you_?” Ratchet cut in, snarling as a feeder line began dripping energon onto the floor instead of into the Saleen.  
  
Bumblebee’s plates rattled. “N- no... I don’t--?”  
  
“Then you’re fine, he’s fine, clear out and don’t come back until I tell you to.”  
  
The scout hung his head. He didn’t have to be told twice, but Sam was not fine. He was so far from fine it was painful, Bumblebee could feel it. Mikaela gave him a sympathetic and slightly harried look as he passed her.  
  
“I’ll see you later, ‘Bee?”  
  
Bumblebee inclined his helm, warbling a miserable chirrup of agreement.   
  
Pale optics shifted to Jazz. "And you are...?”   
  
"Just leavin'." Jazz held hands up in surrender and turned to follow Bumblebee.  
  
The medic’s glare landed next on Ironhide. Ironhide stared right back.   
  
“Weekly checkup. Sarah, Annabelle, me.”  
  
A cursory scan and Ratchet waved him off. “They’re fine, you’ll live.”  
  
“Fine,” Ironhide grumbled. “Could’ve told you that and saved myself the trip here.”  
  
“Out,  _now_.”  
  
Tension was all but vibrating the medic’s armor. Optimus approached to rest a hand on Ratchet’s shoulder. “Why not take a break before you continue? Come and have some energon first--”  
  
“There is no break from this Primus-forsaken war, you’ve said that often enough,” Ratchet snapped, shaking him off and putting safe distance between them.  
  
That hand on his armor, the mere presence of Prime, was a burn and a torment and an infinite relief to his spark, but Ratchet would offline himself before he would open that door and walk through it again. So went the firmest of his resolves when he was alone. When Prime was near, his field betrayed him, his spark twisted with backlash and all his resolve crumpled to rust.  
  
Something smoldered in Prime’s gaze, whether anger or frustrated passion Ratchet neither knew nor cared, wrestling with a treacherous field that bucked and seethed and reached for the one thing he would not allow himself.  
  
“I’m simply suggesting,” Optimus said evenly, “that you should get out of this Medbay from time to time. You are stressed and overworked, why don’t you--”  
  
“Why don’t  _you_  go see to the rest of the planet while I tend to my patient?” Pale optics locked with Prime’s. Ratchet’s field seethed, snapping with anger.  
  
Bumblebee stopped short in the doorway, shocked at the open hostility. Jazz looked to Ironhide, lifting a shoulder in a helpless shrug. Ironhide watched the pair with narrowed optics, waiting to see what the fallout might be. The rift between the Prime and his promised was growing wider by the day.  
  
Only Sarah and Mikaela startled when metal groaned and the Saleen shuddered. The engine coughed and sputtered, black oily smoke rose from beneath the crumpled hood.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Processors hung suspended, Barricade drifted in a place beyond pain.  
  
 _Pain_ , the old one whispered to him,  _let it guide you, let it teach_.  
  
Barricade’s mouthplates curled in a sneer, optics cold with contempt. “ _What can I learn from being torn to pieces?_ ”  
  
A soft laugh answered him, then the faint touch of his Guardian, a clawed hand resting lightly over his spark.  _Patience. Control. They were ever your weaknesses, young ‘Cade. I failed to teach them to you. Perhaps your new Lord will succeed where I did not._  
  
Barricade hiss-snarled angry defiance. “ _More likely I will end up tossed onto the scrap heap thanks to my illustrious Lord. He wants me to beg. I refuse.”  
  
There is no shame in retreating before a stronger force. Learn to bend, before you are broken, young one.  
  
“I would rather offline first!”_  
  
His Guardian sighed, a mournful rush of air sloughing through vents.  
  
The beating continued. Barricade choked on pain and energon and pride with Megatron’s deep chuckle in his audials.  
  
Finally, the stern voice of his Guardian commanded, a ghost out of time but still a force to be reckoned with.   
  
 _I died protecting you, Barricade. Repay me now by living._  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
His AI surged to life, battle ready and clamoring warning alerts. Ironhide growled, optics shifting from the bristling medic and Prime to pin on the injured Decepticon.  
  
“Sarah, take the child and get behind me. Now!”  
  
Sarah was already scrambling to snatch Annabelle from Ironhide’s foot, retreating back behind their Guardian as the Saleen roared to life.  
  
Barricade reentered consciousness, crashing into a nightmare of howling pain, every system throwing warnings of imminent shut down. He could neither see nor hear, blind, deaf and dumb to everything around him, but the urge to get out, run,  _escape_  was overwhelming.  
  
Feeding lines ruptured, spewing energon everywhere. The Saleen lurched forward, engine screeching, heading straight for Sarah and Annabelle.   
  
Jazz shouted a warning over the roar of Ironhide’s cannons powering up. Ratchet snarled out a threat.   
  
“Blast him and I will take you apart, plate by plate!”  
  
Prime’s deep baritone cut through the din.  
  
“Ironhide, no! Ratchet! Shut him down, shut him  _down_!”  
  
Ratchet pivoted away from Prime and in front of Barricade in one smooth motion, his arm transforming into a huge circular saw. The saw slammed down, cutting into the pavement in front of the Saleen, blocking the charge. The vehicle crunched into the barrier and halted, tires still spinning. Ratchet shoved the fingers of his other hand into the seams of the front end, cables threading out through fingerpads and into processors and core systems, sending out counter orders and virus programs to override defenses.   
  
The Saleen shuddered and convulsed under the onslaught. Systems began the last of their fail safes.  
  
The engine whined, metal grinding on metal, one system after another shutting down in the face of the intruding programming. The purge would be complete, nothing useful would remain.   
  
A snatch of sound, an urgent garble of words, “ _Frag it all, he’s… stasis lock… don’t know… I’m losing him, I can’t…._ ”  
  
Barricade felt the coming darkness and reached for it, snarling defiance and hate at the enemy.  
  
\-------------------------------------------------   
  
It was midafternoon, Maggie was stiff from sitting, and stifling ever more frequent yawns, while Jazz had spent the last hour fairly humming with pent up energy after the near prison break by their Decepticon captive in the Medbay.  
  
Jazz looked over at her with a sly smile and an amused glimmer of his visor when she failed to hold back another yawn.  
  
“The usual?”  
  
Maggie flopped across her station. “I shouldn’t, really.”  
  
“Just a quickie? Ta wake ya up, give ya a boost of energy.”  
  
Maggie gave him a half-hearted glare. Jazz chuckled.  
  
“Come on, ya know ya want it.”  
  
“Jazz, you are evil.” Maggie groaned and stood up, stretching stiff muscles. “For a moment there, I actually had some self-control.”   
  
Coffee and chocolate, together they were her downfall, her secret weakness, and Jazz was the devil himself when it came to tempting her with them.  
  
The lure of getting out of the monitoring room for a break, the promise of a mocha latte, and she was sinking into the luxurious leather seat and succumbing to temptation once again.  
  
The seatbelt pressed against her, vibrations moved up through the seat. The engine of the Solstice revved and Maggie’s lips curved. Jazz was also an opportunist.   
  
The radio pulsed out a Latin rhythm, and Maggie relaxed back in the seat as they made their way out of the grounds of the Base.   
  
Oh yeah, Jazz was a devil, and she loved him for it.  
  
 _Man, it's a hot one  
Like seven inches from the midday sun.  
I hear you whisper and the words melt everyone  
But you stay so cool…  
You’re my reason for reason  
The step in my groove…_  
  
His pleasure was obvious, from the smooth purr of his engine to the way his seat softened around her. The rhythm of him moved into her. She pressed a little harder against him and stroked her hands over smooth warm leather, listening to his engine thrum in response.  
  
 _I'll tell you one thing, if you would leave it'd be a crying shame  
In every breath and every word I hear your name calling me out…  
You hear my rhythm on your radio, you feel the turning of the world so soft and slow, turning you round and round… _  
  
The engine tone was deep and seductive, the vibration sent shivers through her body, drawing a soft moan and an answering growl from Jazz. “Let me see ya, let me feel ya against me, Maggs.”   
  
 _Watch. Feel._  Jazz had explained how his field meshed better with hers when her emotions were strong. Or when she was aroused. Maggie had explained how his 15 feet of towering metal frame still gave her pause, and he had promised to find a compromise. Now, here it was.  
  
 _For science_ , Maggie thought, blushing. She licked her lips, glancing at darkened windows, then pulled her top off. Her skirt followed. She unhooked her bra, the nipples pebbled with chill in the air conditioned cockpit.  
  
She was down to her thong, thigh highs and heels. Jazz’s engine gave a sultry purr. “Lose the thong. Keep the rest.”  
  
That was enough to make the heat curl in her stomach. This was delightfully wicked. Sinful.  _Give him a show he won’t forget, girl_. She slipped the thong off with both hands and a slow seductive wiggle of hips against leather. Jazz growled. Maggie smiled, a satisfied cat with a bowlful of cream.  
  
 _And it's just like the ocean under the moon  
Well it's the same as the emotion that I get from you  
You got the kinda loving that can be so smooth, yeah  
Give me your heart, make it real, or else forget about it... _  
  
She closed her eyes, shivering. The air felt thicker and Jazz was all around her. The words of the song faded away; only the low bass of the radio remained, the heavy throb of his engine rumbling through her. His seat molded possessively, hugging every line and curve of her body. “Show me, Maggs. Wanna feel ya.”   
  
Her hand cupped her breast and squeezed, thumb stroking her nipple. Her other hand slipped between her legs.  
  
At the first touch of his field, Maggie purred. Light sparkled behind her eyelids, his field covered her, hard and soft, hot and cold, it tingled over her lightly, washing her in sensations. Jazz was right next to her, a shadowy presence, his deep voice whispering against her ear, warm breath shifting her hair. “That’s it, more…”   
  
Touching, stroking, his hands moved over her with a lover’s touch.  _No, it’s his field, his field_ … but Maggie kept her eyes closed, relishing the fantasy. Her shadow lover cupped her breasts with his big warm hands, pinching and teasing, gently tweaking her nipples.  _God, harder… harder._  Pleasant chills chased up and down her body, heat settled between her legs. Maggie moaned, her hand working, hips twitching up when she hit just the right spot.  
  
Those big hands were smoothing up her legs now, the tip of one large finger playfully circling her thighs at the top of each stocking. “More… show me more…”  
  
Maggie arched seductively and spread her thighs, lifting one slim leg to rest a stilettoed heel on the dash of the Solstice. The engine purred out a deep growl. The cockpit grew warmer. Jazz moved over her, pressing close.  _Field, it was his field…._    
  
She had watched him demonstrate, had seen the holo display as the shimmering blue glow surrounded her with light, electric field singing harmony with the charge in her nerve endings, coaxing her brain to interpret energy as touch, as pressure, as feather kisses and lingering strokes, the warm touches of a lover.   
  
It was all explained to her, all the science that was more like magic, but those sensations-- they felt like  _Jazz_.  
  
 _Oh yes, and sex_. She purred happily, running pink-tipped fingernails over butter-soft leather.  
  
A touch of fingers to her cheek, light pressure against her mouth. Maggie sighed and smiled, parting her lips for his kiss, and then that oh so delicate pressure teased her mouth and lips and tongue with tingling erotic little flickers until she was moaning with it. Jazz echoed her moans with a powerful rev of his engine.  
  
“Jazz,” she breathed, eyelids fluttering. Her hand moved, fingers swirling, thumb stroking, tension pulling her tight. Her breath came in soft pants, a tiny bead of sweat trickled down her throat. Vents hissed to life, swirling deliciously cool air around her.   
  
She could feel Jazz watching, engine rumbling softly, all his focus on her.  _Show me…_  
  
Maggie whimpered, shifting restlessly. Close, she was so  _close_. Her cheeks flushed, body straining, nails digging into his plush leather seats.   
  
Her thighs were stroked, nipples pinched, that delicate pressure settled between her legs.  _His field, his field…_  no, the shining silver plating of Jazz’s mouth, hard and warm, kissing her there,  _right_  there. Maggie moaned, tossing her head back, thighs spread wide and hips rolling up to the touch of liquid heat that shimmered and swirled, lapping and tingling.  
  
She was writhing, almost begging for release, with mewling breath and the fast slick slide of her fingers over flesh. The air crackled with static, blue sparks snapped off the dash and steering wheel. The Solstice skidded, tires squealing, metal creaking and groaning under the stress. The engine was a muted roar, rumbling and shuddering through the cockpit.   
  
“Come for me, Maggie,  _now_.” Jazz’s deep voice growled against her ear, his large metal hand, warm and hard, was cupping her ass and squeezing her tight. Maggie cried out and climaxed, back arched, hips bucking into her hand. The cockpit lit up with a glow of blue light. A wash of electric pleasure swamped her, small shocks moved through her, in her breasts, her belly, down her thighs, pulses of pure pleasure spreading from the center out.  
  
Maggie moaned and panted, clutching at the seat, trembling. The stars danced behind her eyes. “God, Jazz…  _god._ ”  
  
“Aww yeah,” Jazz murmured, “that was amazin’. And I gotta tell ya, you’re gorgeous.” Jazz’s voice deepened, a warm admiring rumble through the cab. “Every inch of ya, Maggie, dead sexy and gorgeous.”  
  
Maggie was caught between a blush and a preen as she pulled on clothes and tried to get herself in order. Jazz watched as she tilted the rearview down to check makeup, humming satisfaction. Maggie glowed in his sensor net, all flushed cheeks and plumped up rosy pink lips, heavy lidded eyes, sex-sated and sleepy.  
  
Her biofield was still tangled with his. Jazz sent a pulse, languid and lazy, just to watch those eyes darken and hear her breath catch, see the flutter of her pulse beneath delicate skin.  
  
Lips parted, a soft moan drifted through the cab, music to his audials and a balm to his spark. Life moved in him and reached for him, warm and inviting. One last pulse, a tender caress that swept through her field, and Jazz reluctantly shifted resonance and dropped out of synch.  
  
Harmony lost, the biofield drifted back to its normal state. The Solstice rumbled contentment, continuing down the road at a leisurely pace.  
  
“Now, how ‘bout that double-shot cappuccino I promised?”  
  
Maggie tossed the dashboard a pert grin and stretched on his seat like a contented cat. “Mocha latte, Jazz, and if you don’t want me falling asleep on my keyboard, better make it a triple.”  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
An unseen presence lurked, watching the pair and their activities in the cockpit of the Solstice. The human was studied with mild interest as the Cybertronian field mantled and covered her. It drove in deep and rode her hard, and the human gave a very satisfactory response if the spill off of energy and the deep groans of the Solstice were anything to go by.  
  
The AI paid sounds and activities very little heed, focused almost entirely on sorting through the steady stream of new data. The Cybertronian was the focus, the Cybertronian was key. Its systems were studied, energy was mapped, every adjustment, surge and peak tracked and charted.  
  
 _More?  
  
As far as this can go…_  
  
Given the rather broad new parameters the AI was working under, it found its way clear to move behind firewalls and barriers and protected codes, right down to the level of spark and core programming. A barrier was shifted here, code protections rewritten there, a firewall was removed completely, all hidden, all under securities erected by the AI at its Master’s command:  _Double blind until complete.  
  
Phase III – Complete. Begin Phase IV?_  
  
System after system, programs chimed and pinged and beeped their readiness or lack thereof, and the AI tended to each one, waiting for completion, ready to begin.  
  
 _Phase IV – Initiating…. Initiating…  
  
Commencing Phase IV._  
  
\-------------------------------------------------   
  
Sarah watched in awed fascination as Ironhide turned his cannons on solid rock and melted it, sometimes leaving a few glowing pools of metal behind to be dutifully salvaged by the waiting drones. It was the outermost chamber her Guardian was working on, a large entryway that would lead to the rest of the underground base, and Sarah had gasped at the size of it. Mechs came in all sizes, Ironhide explained, and even he was dwarfed by the massive supports and high ceiling. The drones had made steady progress on their own. Now Ironhide was there to check programming and speed things along.  
  
Annabelle fussed, wanting to go to him, until Ironhide aimed a stern look at the tiny girl and click-buzzed a correction. Annabelle quieted immediately, thumb in her mouth and eyes wide, watching their Guardian. Cannons whined with building power, the muzzles glowed briefly, more rock vanished.   
  
The reward for her patience came later in the form of a tide pool warmed by the sun. Annabelle paddled around, chasing tiny fish and splashing her indulgent Guardian, laughing when he snorted at the droplets glistening on black armor. Sarah watched them both, a smile curving her lips. It was peaceful here, beautiful, the sound of the ocean soothed her.   
  
The sun was heading for the horizon and Annabelle was trying to gnaw a shell when Sarah finally called a halt, plucking her from the pool, rinsing her off with water from Ironhide’s reserve tank. The tiny girl was fed, bundled and put to bed in the small pup tent, her eyelids already drooping. She was sound asleep before Sarah was halfway through ‘Good Night Moon.’  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Ironhide was lying on his back, optics dark, when Sarah approached him. She hesitated, indecisive, but she had watched Annabelle fondly patting her Guardian’s face plating, running tiny hands over the glyphs carved into metal. Ironhide had tilted his helm into her touches, letting her explore at will.  
  
Curiosity won out. She reached out and touched the large circular medallion on the side of his helm, letting her fingertips trace the glyphs that covered it, then moved up to the sweeping, hornlike audial.  
  
A soft susurration, like wind sighing through trees, and she backed up a few steps as the great head turned slowly towards her. Did she wake him? Was this bothering him? But he turned towards her, not away. No longer in profile, she could see most of his face, but Ironhide’s optics remained dark, and Sarah was feeling brave enough to venture her own explorations.  
  
She touched the large arching curve of his optic brow, palmed curiously along the angled metal of his cheek, reached a tentative hand to the large scar around Ironhide’s right optic, the metal there rough and discolored.  
  
Another whispering sound, but Ironhide never moved, and Sarah’s fingers slid down, tracing lightly along his mouthplates and everywhere she touched, Ironhide was warm, so warm.  
  
Caught up in her explorations, she failed to notice the large optics of her Guardian glowing dimly above her, until her hand lifted to his scarred optic once more. Sarah froze when she realized he was awake, but Ironhide’s optics remained dim.  
  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She heard that soft sound once again, resolving into an audible murmur.  
  
“Femme, you are no bother. Please, stay.”  
  
A small little sound of he didn’t know what, but she wasn’t backing off. Ironhide sighed when Sarah’s fingers smoothed gently over his scar, as though she could soothe the hurt that was long gone.  
  
“Why hasn’t Ratchet fixed this?”  
  
“I was injured before he joined our ranks. I keep it as a warning, a reminder of my younger, more reckless days.”  
  
\-- _Brave, but foolish, the old Prime whispered, his digit tracing around the blackened ruin of Ironhide’s optic. Soldiers must think as well as fight. You won’t live long if you can’t learn that lesson. Stay alive, Ironhide, that’s an order. I need you._ \--  
  
Sarah’s hand left his scar and moved to his cheek again, stroking the metal of a guard, her touch soft and curious and unconsciously erotic.  
  
“It’s hard to believe you were ever the reckless type,” she said.   
  
“I’ve learned patience over the vorns.”  
  
She startled when he brought his hand up, her own hand slipping down a little more to just above his mouth, the plating there thinner, more sensitive to her touches. One large finger touched her back, and Sarah shivered.  
  
“Ironhide....”  
  
Ironhide’s mouthplates parted slightly. Warm air puffed over her.  
  
“Easy, Sarah.”  
  
His huge body thrummed with power, vents whooshed softly as he breathed in air and expelled it again, she could hear the throbbing of his spark, beating just like her own heart. Sarah shivered beneath his finger again and the throbbing was joined by Ironhide’s deep hum. The comfort she felt so often in her Guardian’s presence washed over her. She was being held, surrounded and safe in strong arms. His finger stroked, feather light, and Sarah rested her forehead against warm armor.  
  
“Thank you,” she murmured, “for bringing me here. I needed this.” To get away from four walls, arid heat, the  _sameness_  of everything. It wore on her, along with her worry for Will, stretching her nerves, invading her sleep.  
  
Now, she listened to the ocean waves swirl and lap the shoreline with soft whispers. The smell of salt hung heavy in the air, the stars were a brilliant swath against the night sky. Below them, Ironhide’s massive bulk cut a dark silhouette.  
  
“You are welcome, femme. My task is somewhat tedious; I appreciate the company.”  
  
“Tedious? Ironhide, you were melting a  _mountain_!”  
  
She heard him rumble amusement, the sound like a slow roll of distant thunder. Sarah smiled and breathed out a sigh that fogged black metal, more relaxed than in months.  
  
Ironhide spoke again, deep gravelly voice vibrating pleasantly through her chest. “I spoke with Will earlier.”  
  
Sarah lifted her head. “Is he alright?”  
  
“He is fine. He sends his love to you both.”  
  
“And what else?”  
  
“Nothing else.”  
  
“Oh please.” Sarah arched a brow. “Then why did you blow up the tree in my backyard at 5 a.m. this morning?”  
  
“Accidental discharge,” Sarah heard him mutter. His huff blew warm air around her. “I have already promised Will to replace it.”  
  
“Ironhide, I  _know_  there’s something else.” Sarah reached a hand up to touch warped and dulled metal. “I want to know if something’s gone wrong. Please don’t leave me in the dark?”  _Like Will did_. It hung in the air between them, what Sarah needed and what Will couldn’t give, and Ironhide’s optics flickered and dimmed. He pulled back from her and slowly sat up, holding a hand out in invitation.  
  
Sarah sat in his palm and was lifted up until she was eye to optic with Ironhide.  
  
“Will has told me about his mission, he shares knowledge and intel with me. Understand, Sarah, these are things I cannot tell you. I swore an oath to Will not to reveal anything he deemed classified.”  
  
“I understand that, but Ironhide, Will changed after his last mission, when you brought him home. Something happened and he won’t tell me what and the silence--” Sarah broke off when tears threatened, swallowing hard. She gripped the metal of Ironhide’s thumb. “I need to know, Ironhide. What’s changed? What is he facing that’s different from every other mission?”   
  
Sarah stared up at him, eyes shadowed with pain but determined to know the worst, and Ironhide heard the questions as clearly as if she had spoken them.  _Will he make it home? Will he come back to me?_    
  
Ironhide raised a finger, stroking delicately over her small frame. His field tangled gently with hers, pulsing comfort and calm. “I cannot tell you, but he is a warrior, Sarah. I am confident he will return to you.”  
  
Pleasant tingles were chasing down her spine. She sighed deeply and leaned into Ironhide’s touch. “If anything happens, can you get to him? Can you help?”  
  
“Femme, I swear on my spark, if Will is in danger, I will go and find him and bring him back.”  
  
Sarah nodded and drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. Large fingers curved around her. Another tingle shivered through her, stronger than the others. Something snugged around her and held her close, cocooning her in a blanket of warmth. Sarah closed her eyes as sensations washed through her. Ironhide above her, Will next to her, holding her in his arms. She was protected, cared for, safe,  _loved_.  
  
Ironhide made a noise above her, then his deep hum began. Sarah smiled and curled up in the cup of his hand.  
  
“Ironhide, tell me about Cybertron?”  
  
“When I last saw Cybertron...,” he grumbled and rattled plating like trying to cast off water, “not even sure what it would look like now. But if you could have seen it in the Golden Age, or as Optimus took the mantle of Prime... that was beauty. We were a vast empire, the wealth of thousands of worlds flowed through our trade centers. The cities of Cybertron were jewels of architecture; arching columns, and braided skywalks, glittering spires and spiraled landings for the airframes. Lights and shining crystal all the way to the horizon...”  
  
The moon was setting by the time Sarah said good night and joined Annabelle in the small pup tent. Ironhide sat silent and still, watching over them. Optics dimmed and flared to brilliant blue; an occasional tremor shook his frame. Deep in his core, a connection closed, and another of the long links in Guardian protocols was completed. The black mech slowly scrubbed a hand over jawplating and looked up to the stars.  
  
“Prime swears you have a plan for everything. This had better be one of them.”  
  
 ** _tbc_**  
  
\-------------------  
  
Song Lyrics: Smooth by Santana (Featuring Rob Thomas)  
  
A/N: My deepest thanks to my lovely beta, quidamling, for batting ideas, suggestions, plot and scene development. So much love, hun~ This chapter would not have come into being without your enthusiasm, encouragement and support. ♥♥♥  
  
A/N: Artwork by the lovely and extremely talented lb82. This picture was done ages ago as a gift. We had talked about posting the picture when I made it to this point in the story, and now, finally, here it is. Despite losing contact, I wanted to share this beautiful amazing piece of art. So much love for this; I can never thank her enough.  
  
  


 


	16. Chapter 15

Notes:

\-------------- Denotes scene breaks  
~~~~~~~~~~~~ Denotes breaks within scenes

\-----------------------------

**~ Chapter 15 ~**

  
**Cybertron -- Distant Past**

“Well, that’s something you don’t see every day,” Ironhide muttered. He scrubbed a hand slowly over his jawplates and took a seat in one of the larger chairs in the Second’s quarters.

“What’s that?” Jazz passed the big mech a cube of high-grade and sat back expectantly. Information was a valuable commodity and always welcome. He watched Ironhide empty half the contents of his cube in one swallow, and rub his jawplating again.

“Prime, looking like he was in full seduce-and-conquer mode with our medic. I caught them in the hallway just now.”

The information wasn’t nearly as interesting as Ironhide’s reaction. Jazz’s visor shimmered amusement at the growling tone and deep throbbing hum of Ironhide’s systems. “Must a been quite a scene. How’d Ratchet handle it?”

Ironhide smirked. “Not a protest out of him; might have heard some moaning though. Thought they were both overcharged, but Optimus said they’d only had a couple of cubes. Not that it’s anyone’s business if the Prime wants a quick frag to flush out his systems but still.”

Jazz laughed. “You got a way with words, ‘Hide.”

Ironhide snorted, entirely unapologetic. “We all need that from time to time, especially after a battle. Point is, Prime should have learned by now to keep his little trysts quiet.”

“Nah, the point is, when have you ever seen Optimus so interested? And how about the way Ratchet looks at him?”

Ironhide grunted and downed the rest of the high-grade in his cube. “Have to be blind not to notice. I’m shocked it took them this long.”

“Prime doesn’t act like he wants just a quick round in the berth with Ratchet. He got Prime’s attention, and without even half tryin’.”  
  
“So he’s interested. Doesn’t count for anything.” Ironhide looked up from his cube. “The Council has the final say, and never in a billion vorns will they think Ratchet’s a good choice to bond with the Prime.”

Jazz grinned before schooling his field into a complete aura of innocence, wide sparkling optics and flicking back his finials like a turbopup. “Are you implying that Ratchet is not the pinnacle of a demure and humble little crystal flower to adorn the Prime’s arm?” Jazz asked, visor glistening earnestly.

Ironhide snorted. “The day I see that is the day I scrap my cannons. He hasn’t forgotten about Heatseek. Little ‘bot shows up with a few dents and suddenly I’m staring at that big saw of his. ”

“I think it was the reason behind the dents that torqued him off, ‘Hide.”

“Slag, that was 3 _vorns_ ago and he’s still torqued at me. And there’s another thing that makes him completely unsuitable. Consorts are to be seen and not heard and definitely never in a million vorns should they be calmly informing the Weapons Master that his cannons will be forcibly removed and he’ll be charging into battle with nothing but-- I think his words were ‘damn thickplated rattling empty helm.’”

“Our medic’s got a way with words too. Any regrets?” Jazz drawled, amusement sparkling in a swirl of colors across his visor.

“Frag, no, worth every round. All 5 of them.” A smug optic wink and Ironhide drained his cube, engine giving a very satisfied rumble.

Short of being slagged and in the Medbay for repairs, there were certain frametypes always ready and eager to go a few rounds in the berth after battle. Heatseek was one such. Small and agile and built for speed, whether in battle or in the berth the mech had a reputation for running fast and hot. He would quite literally roll off the battlefield and right into his berth, dragging whichever willing mech he could find along for the ride.

One of the willing mechs had been Ironhide. Heatseek more than lived up to his reputation, and Ironhide had been grateful for it. The mech had been a much-needed distraction, and a very pleasant one.

“He should know what goes along with a frame type.” Ironhide snorted and thumped his cube down on the table. “Anyway, you know how this goes, Jazz. Ratchet’s name comes up, the Council laughs their afts off, then ignores the whole thing. Business as usual.”

“Business is glitched and so is the Council. Every mech on Cybertron gets ta choose their bondeds, except the Prime. Optimus should have a say--”

“You know Prime as well as I do,” Ironhide interrupted. “He’s a traditionalist and tradition is on the side of the Council. He’ll do as they tell him.” He looked pointedly at his empty cube. Jazz pushed him another.

“Mechs can change. And ya gotta admit, ‘Hide, Prime’s been handlin’ things easier since Ratchet got here.”

“He’s a good medic.”

“He could be an even better bonded.”

“Bonded, my aft. Even if the Council agreed, he’d be nothing but cannon fodder, Jazz, and you know it. Prime does too, and he may be interested, but he’s not likely to put Ratchet in harm’s way anytime soon. He should enjoy what the medic’s offering while he can, before the Council shoves another properly demure little crystal flower at him.”

Ironhide’s plating flick was dismissive, his field signaling clear frustration, and Jazz let the subject drop. They had much more entertaining things to do this evening than argue over stubborn councils and the love woes of their Prime.

He eyed the level in Ironhide’s cube and slid another over, giving the big mech a sly, sidelong glance. He would bet five kliks at most to get their evening back on track.

“Prime and Ratchet. Bet that was something ta see. Were they goin’ for the floor or wall?”

Not even two kliks. The change was instantaneous. Ironhide grunted, optics flashing. He drained his cube and rose to his feet, clearly done talking. He looked down at the smaller mech. “You ready?”

Jazz chuckled. “I’m ready.” When it came to something he wanted, Ironhide believed in the direct approach.

Ironhide pulled him up and into his arms, rumbling a purr. His chest plates were hot, his fans already whirred rapidly. Jazz’s engine revved a welcome at the hard embrace.

“They got ya going, didn’t they?” he murmured.

Ironhide responded with a hungry growl and a push up against the wall. He held the smaller mech easily, feet off the floor and big arms wrapped around him, and nipped at the little smile on Jazz’s lips.

Jazz’s visor flickered in a wink. “No foreplay?” he teased, flaring his field in invitation.

A wicked smirk was Ironhide’s answer, that and the sudden hot thrust of the bigger mech’s energy field. Jazz clamped down his vocalizer, smothering a moan as that powerful field locked with his, branching out like a lightning strike, power and heat and the unmistakable presence and aura of Ironhide meshing in tight.

He couldn’t stop the slow writhe, held fast in the big mech’s arms. His helm fell back.

“I- Iro- _Primus_.”

Ironhide nuzzled against his exposed neck plates, a rumbling laugh vibrated between them.

Jazz’s helm lifted, visor glinting. “Alright, old mech. This is war.”

“Perfect.” Ironhide nipped at a sensitive cable, chuckling when Jazz made an inarticulate sound and clutched at his shoulder armor. “My favorite game to play.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t war, but it was definitely a battle, fought not with weapons but with sparks and fields and the hard press of armor against armor. Ironhide kept Jazz in a tight grip, pinned to the wall. Jazz remained a willing captive, gasping and twitching at the rough strokes of large fingers over his circuits, the wicked play of Ironhide’s field over his.

Ironhide’s field was all restless energy, a relentless onslaught every bit as overwhelming as he was on the battlefield. Vents blew harsh, friction heated metal, sparks struck off silver plating as armor creaked under his fingers.

Jazz retaliated, his field brilliant and sly, coy and teasing. Quicksilver pulses tangled with lightning strikes, sending blue ribbons of energy coiling and streaming over armor. They arrowed into seams, targeting the spark energy behind Ironhide’s shields. The big mech shuddered with pleasure. His control slipped, a mere fraction of a nanoklik, but more than enough time for Jazz to counterattack. He danced his field out of resonance and planted his hands firmly to Ironhide’s armor, sending pulses of magnetic force through him. Ironhide stiffened, groaning, his helm dropping to Jazz’s shoulder.

Jazz grinned, visor a swirl of colors, flaring his plates in a preen of satisfaction. “Give it up, old mech. I’ve got youth and speed on ya. Not to mention beauty.”

“I’ll give you beauty. For the rest? We’ll see.”

Ironhide took his time, revving his engine hard until the vibrations were traveling clear through Jazz’s frame. His field pulsed in steady waves, hard edged with lust, giving way to deeper rolling subharmonics: Remembered pleasures, trust earned together in battle, the release of pain and the utter joy of sharing again. That earned him a startled chirrup-whistle and some dented armor as Jazz gripped his shoulders, wrapped legs up over his hip struts and went immediately on the offensive.

Ironhide paused under the onslaught, rumbling appreciation as slender knowing fingers delved under his plates and that quicksilver field looped back desire a hundredfold, but the wall had been breached and they both knew it. Jazz parried his field pulse for pulse, refusing to synch but unable to hide his own growing lust, the hint of impatience swirling through his field.

Ironhide renewed his attack, nuzzling and nipping, leisurely exploring the length of one silver antenna. Jazz’s mouth was just as busy, his hands buried under Ironhide’s plates up to his wrist joints, his visor glinting triumph when Ironhide shuddered and growled. Then the big mech neatly outmaneuvered him by blowing out his field. A thousand sensations swirled and feathered over circuits and silver armor until Jazz gasped and shivered and finally moaned out a surrender.

It actually sounded more like, “ _Slagger_ …”, but his field altered resonance and rapidly synched up, curling out to weave through Ironhide’s, brilliant and blue and sparking with lust.

Jazz shivered again and Ironhide took him in a firmer hold, admiring the feel of the sleek frame in his arms. Ribbons of blue fire were already traveling over their frames, spark energy hot and restless sent waves of heat shimmering across armor plates.  
  
“Still a thing or two I can teach you young ones,” Ironhide murmured.

“Ya got me there. And here.” Jazz bumped his helm affectionately against the big mech. “Now get us t’ the berth, ‘Hide, before we melt the wall.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jazz’s deep cries and his own gunning engine were still loud in his audials when Ironhide finally called truce. He shifted to the side, loosening slender digits still dug deeply into his backseams and tucked the smaller mech next to him. Jazz was offline. Ironhide rumbled contentment, systems buzzing from the rush of spark energy. Fans whirred in unison, cooling the overheated mechs.  
  
Jazz had been a surprise, one of the more welcome ones in Ironhide’s existence. The others had been too often made up death, death, and more death, interspersed with wholesale destruction on a planetary scale.  
  
The war entered a new, more vicious phase. The Decepticons relentlessly hunted down the remaining Neutrals and dispatched them as potential threats. Prime devoted what resources he could to defend the more helpless citizens but city after city fell to ruin in the Purge. Ironhide’s bonded was a casualty, as was the village and crèche of Neutrals they were guarding. A few Neutrals fled offworld, others were forced into choosing a side, and in the end there were no Neutrals left, only Autobots and Decepticons.  
  
The war raged on. Entire cities were depopulated through death or attrition, while others were razed to the ground. Trade ceased; the infrastructure of an entire civilization collapsed. The Cybertronian Empire shook in its death throes, and nothing the Council or their new Prime could do would stop it.

By the time Jazz was made Prime’s Second, Ironhide’s loss was vorns behind him. It took a sharp mech to notice the occasional limp in a weakened bearing, or the sudden distressed flare of his field that was contained just as abruptly.  
  
Ironhide wasn’t particularly surprised that Jazz had attained such a rank. No one who knew that mech ever underestimated him. Not after the first time, anyway.

He also wasn’t surprised when Jazz noticed. The silver mech caught up with him, visor soft-hued with sympathy, trilling concern. Ironhide waved him off and limped to his quarters, pain eating at his spark, his field a tangle of conflicting pulses.  
  
It was after the fifth battle since his promotion when Jazz did surprise him. The battle had been won—barely—with heavy losses on both sides. Ironhide limped through the Base, the bright flash and brutal roar of an enemy’s plasma weapon discharged at point blank range echoing and re-echoing through his processors. His field writhed in a painful flare, signaling distress to the empty corridors. Ironhide snarled and yanked it back as he turned the corner, then stopped short to stare at Jazz.  
  
Until the day he offlined permanently this was how Ironhide would remember him, the memory etched deep into his module.  
  
Jazz was lounging against the wall, all bright silver and smooth grace, his mouthplates curved in an easy smile. His field sang with energy, the subharmonics brilliant and joyful. And strong. Primus, but there was strength to this mech. Prime chose well, Ironhide thought, while Jazz’s field sent out delicate questing tendrils to flicker against his own tattered field, beckoning and coaxing, inviting him to share.  
  
The relief that swept over Ironhide was palpable, but he hesitated, looking down at the Prime’s Second and ready to decline the offer to share a berth for the evening.

_“We have nothing in common.”_

_“Wrong. We have a Prime in common. That and a mutual love of highgrade says we’ll get along just fine.”_

Ironhide stroked gentle fingerpads over silver armor, tracing the contours and seams of Jazz’s chestplates. There was no movement his sensors could detect, only a subtle shift in the field still locked with his to signal Jazz was online again. He looked down to see the silver mech’s visor shading to deepest blue, drawing him back to the present.

Ironhide brushed mouthplates against Jazz’s helm.

“Well?” he asked gruffly.

Jazz tilted his head and looked up at him with a lazy smile. “You win.”

Ironhide chuckled. “Saw him, did you?”

The Second nodded. “Uh-huh. Sure did. I definitely saw Primus. That’s a case of my finest I owe you.”

Ironhide waved it off. “We’ll split it. I saw him, too.”

Jazz smirked, his field reaching out in a coy flirt. Ironhide put a hand on Jazz’s shoulder and pushed him to his back. Fingers parted his hip seam seeking out sensor nodes. Jazz gasped, his frame jerked under the rough touches, but his field was already warring with Ironhide’s. The big mech liked a challenge and Jazz was happy to oblige.

Ironhide leaned over to rumble in an audial. “Another case says I can make you see him again.”

“Primus,” Jazz moaned, quivering beneath Ironhide’s hands.

“Not yet, Jazz. Give me a few breems.”

\------------------------------------ 

**Medbay - Present Day**

Barricade wasn’t online, not in any meaningful sense. Most days it took a scan or three to make sure he was even alive, the Decepticon was that heavily shielded. The Medbay had been transformed, its ample space taken up with a vast array of conduits and cables weaving through the thousands of filaments of a hastily constructed monitoring net. At the center sat the ruined Saleen, slouched and sullen looking.  
  
Ratchet labored to stabilize him, removing as much as he dared of armor and plating in an effort to get at core systems. His efforts were met with subtle resistance. Intruding on a system in one section resulted in a cascade failure of another system elsewhere. His medical directives and nanobots met with the same result.

It was deliberate; it was sabotage. Ratchet had barely contained the complete purge initiated by the Decepticon and was still cleaning up the mess left behind. One all important question remained: Was there enough left of Barricade to bring back?

Ratchet couldn’t rely on the resistance as proof; much of it was automatic, a failsafe against capture and typically Decepticon. Faced with waning resources and ever fewer troops, more than a few Autobots had resorted to similar tactics in the last vorns on Cybertron. Better to offline by their own hand than be forced into a reformat to serve a hated enemy.

He was tempted more than once to free Barricade from the maze of regulating lifelines and feeders and let him slip into a slow but relatively painless death in stasis lock. By every scan and the best professional opinion of his medical AI, Ratchet should have done just that.

Barricade’s odds of survival ranged from slim to virtually none depending on the day, but there was one thing, a small thread of hope that kept Ratchet working and refusing to give him up.

Ironically, that hope was named Ironhide.

Ironhide was a sorely needed extra pair of hands in the Medbay, helping to maneuver, lift and hold the injured Saleen while the medic worked on hard to reach areas. More than that, he was at spark and core a Guardian, and in his presence the change in Barricade was remarkable.

Gone was the sullen withdrawal, the subtle resistance. The entire Saleen vibrated with a silent welcoming hum. Barricade’s field would flutter to life, a desperate spastic flare as it reached for Ironhide, seeking a Guardian, pleading for help.

Ironhide had been less than pleased. His field deflected the plea firmly and added a strong warn-off to the intruder for good measure. The Decepticon’s field retreated, rippling disappointment before ebbing away to a pallid glow. It hovered around the Saleen like a mournful ghost, edges wavering and tattered.  
  
Ratchet could almost hear the plaintive wail as Barricade broadcast for a Guardian.

It was moving and pitiful, and the medic couldn’t find any satisfaction in seeing an enemy brought so low.

Other mechs though, had no such problems. Mechs with their helms up their afts, Ratchet grumbled to himself.

Grateful as he was for the big mech’s help, the constant rebuffs from Ironhide were irritating and set off his medical sensors with warnings and alarms as Barricade’s life signs went on the decline again. He didn’t want to think what it was costing his patient.

In spite of the rejections Barricade didn’t give up, continuing his dogged pursuit of the Guardian. That more than any other sign tipped the odds in Barricade’s favor as far as Ratchet was concerned.

Beneath all the failsafes and corrupted programming, the ruined systems and shattered infrastructure, Barricade wanted to live, the medic was certain of it. Ironhide might be able to ignore all the attempts, but Ratchet no longer could.

After several more such encounters, Ratchet calmly folded his saw away--the better not to tear the stubborn old mech a new exhaust port—and broached the subject of Guardianship to Ironhide.

It was a spark-felt and deeply meaningful conversation:

“He seeks a Guardian.”

“He’ll have to seek elsewhere.”

“We have no other—”

“Not my problem.”

“Stubborn old aft, he wasn’t the one who—“

“He’s a Decepticon.”

“You’d let him die for that?”

“I won’t help him, medic.”

Ratchet glowered at him, fuming quietly.

Ironhide gave him a stony look and stalked to the door. “I’ll bring you a construction drone on my next trip out. You can reformat that into an assistant. I’m done here.”

And that was that and Ratchet had accomplished exactly nothing. He had more of a chance of moving the planet’s moon than persuading Ironhide to let go of the past and accept Barricade.

Ratchet watched Mikaela threading her way through the maze of slender filaments and thicker cables, the sudden disquieting image of a small hapless prey approaching a giant waiting spider intruding on his processors.

“Mikaela!”

She froze in her steps, craning her head to look up at him. “Ratchet…? What is it?”

 _Yes, what?_ Ratchet looked from her to the Saleen, uncertain what had triggered his alarm.

“I- Please be careful.”  
  
She held up cloth and cleaning fluid. “I will. Just finishing up on the spots I can reach.”

He watched her slowly thread her way through that spidery web until she reached the hood of the Saleen, dumped fluid into the cloth, and began wiping out crusted dirt and grime embedded in the seams. The Saleen never moved.

Ratchet gave an all-over shake of his plates, trying to dislodge that elusive warning. Probably nothing. Likely a glitch. When had he last refueled?

Too long ago. His systems scolded him over depleted reserves. He really needed to get an energon station set up in the Medbay.  
  
Ratchet bent to his own work again, steadfastly ignoring another shudder of plates and the dull ache of his spark, the nagging reminders of just _why_ he was avoiding the Rec Room.  
  
The war had long since drained every resource Cybertron possessed including the ability to requisition supplies. Ratchet still mourned that loss, now more than ever. The injured Decepticon was straining every resource the Autobots had, including the not inconsiderable skills of their CMO. Ratchet’s breaks in the Rec Room became infrequent. When he did show up, he sat and brooded over a barely touched energon ration, oblivious to his surroundings. The humans were only half joking when they said they could hear his gears turning.

But when he and Optimus happened to share the same space at the same time, things grew rapidly worse. The friction between them was a living thing, coiling and heavy, seething with tension.  
  
Bumblebee skirted them with anxious looks and door wings hiked high. Ironhide side eyed them, wanting nothing more than to toss them both into a room together and weld it shut until they got it out of their systems. Jazz could only wait for the bot sized train wreck he knew was coming.  
  
Ratchet had continued to be distant and unavailable and Optimus grew increasingly frustrated. His demeanor remained calm and patient, only his optic ridges betraying the frustration and worry that rode him. They drew down into a puzzled frown when he looked at Ratchet, who looked away or pretended not to notice at all.  
  
Optimus often failed to give attention to personal matters. The war took priority, Ratchet had known that from the beginning. The gears could sometimes grind a little slowly when the Prime’s focus encompassed entire worlds and the span of half a galaxy of wide-ranging conflict. Those gears did grind exceedingly fine though. When Optimus’ focus finally turned close to home, and the weight of Prime’s full attention settled on Ratchet, the shock of it shuddered through plating and core and straight to his spark.

Prime’s frown lifted, his optics on Ratchet were intent and appraising, and it was _that_ look that sent Ratchet retreating to the Medbay. The medic’s ploy for time would not last much longer.  
  
A confrontation was inevitable sooner or later, but Ratchet would far rather it be later. He couldn’t trust his field not to betray him, nor keep his yearning spark from reaching out, and he was very much afraid he wouldn’t have the strength to refuse Optimus again.  
  
In the Medbay, his own personal space and world, he could forget the constant battle with his spark and focus on what he did best: a wounded mech in dire need, the urgent demand on his every skill.  
  
Ratchet gave an all-over plating rattle, Ironhide’s warning from months ago a quiet echo in his processors.  
  
_"It's starting again, isn't it."_  
  
_"I can stall it."_  
  
_"Not forever, you can't."_  
  
_"No… Not forever."_  
  
The construction drone was nearly ready, transcanned from his files and refitted to serve as a medbot. Ratchet’s systems buzzed as he sent a purge directive into the drone preparing it for reprograming.

Across the Medbay, Mikaela was stretched nearly prone across the Saleen’s broad hood, scrubbing cleaning solvent into exposed seams and joints. She hummed as she worked, a sound he found decidedly pleasant.

If Barricade was aware, he gave no sign.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He wandered, bewildered and lost, looking for…. something. He had lost something, somewhere. The thing he had lost was troubling, but dim and distant, like so much else around him.

Dreams unfurled before him as he moved, or maybe they were memories, he was never sure and there was no way to distinguish one from another. Somewhere deep down was the knowledge that this should have been troubling, but it was too far down and too vague to be of any help. Everything was vague, even his thoughts. He watched the dream memories play out, detached and only mildly curious. There was cold rage in them, hunger and lust, and pain too--the ache of loss, the spark-deep chill of death--but none of it touched him. He knew them as abstracts only, and something buried deep insisted that this too was troubling.

The images drifted into mist and ended. He moved on, still searching.

At times his search brought him to a place of bright lights and low voices. Pain came with that place, pain that was vicious and unrelenting, wracking his frame until he was screaming with it. The others came then, hard and warm, soft and warm. He didn’t like the hard one, the hard one brought even more pain. But the soft one… ahh.  
  
Soft digits, softer touches, maker of pleasant soothing sounds. This one he welcomed, this one pleased him. Did it belong to him, was it his? No, it came and went at will. If the soft one were his, he would never let it leave.

There was one other… or had been. Large and powerful, one he needed, one he was desperate for, and for the life of him he had no idea why.  
  
But the large one’s rejection was bitter and final, and then it was gone, out of his reach.  
  
He drifted away again, a disappointed engine whine trailing in his wake.

\------------------------------------ 

**Cybertron -- Distant Past**

The hallway was dim and dark and completely empty, an older section of the Decepticon Base, now abandoned. At the scrape of a rusted door, the echo of light footsteps, infrared sensors came online and tracked his prey as it moved closer. A muffled scan. His prey was tense. He tapped a finger against a pipe, and smirked as his prey startled and looked around wildly. The prey moved, took a step. He tapped again, and his prey stopped. Another step, another tap, and the prey froze, whimpering, intakes pulling in air rapidly. He growled softly and heard a moan, the smell of fear and excitement heavy on the air. He came up behind without a sound and caught the small mech up in an iron grip.

“Back for more?” a growled whisper, voice disguised. The mech tried to turn his head around and gasped as the Hunter tightened his hold. “You know the rules. No names, no talking, optics off. Obey them or leave.”

Barricade smiled as the small mech in his arms hastily nodded his helm and offlined his optics, whining a little. He could already feel the heat through the mech’s chest plates. This one was his favorite, a fast starter, exquisite responses, sensitive to his slightest touch. He shifted his arm and tapped the small chestplates with a finger, purring his approval as they sprang open for him. The small mech hung in his grip and waited, shivering.

Barricade stroked slow fingers inside the mech’s chest. He always took extra time with this one, made sure he was ready. Barricade’s own need rode him hard, his energies wild and violent and barely contained, but the small mech never hesitated at the demands his shadow lover made of him. After the first few times, the Hunter grew concerned enough to bend his rules and whisper to him as they interfaced. _Talk to me, tell me… I don’t want to hurt you… Give me more, I want more, I want you…_

He was a rare one, and Barricade could pretend for a short while that the small mech belonged to him, let the feeling soothe the wild thing and fill up the empty places inside. The mech started to struggle, a ploy, a demand for attention, and the predator rose up, raging with lust. _Take him, take him!_ Barricade took him down in one fluid motion, held him face down on the floor, wrists pinned to either side. He lowered himself, let his weight settle, and the small mech groaned.

_Too much? Am I hurting you?_

_No… take me like this… I want you to…_

Garbled pleas and moaning sobs from the small one he held trapped and helpless. Barricade groaned, shuddering, barely in control.

_I don’t want to hurt you._

_More, give me more…_

Spark energy poured out of him, wild and furious, and he pressed hard against the smaller mech with harsh cries of relief.

The small one screamed in overload. Barricade snarled and bit down on a soft throat plate. A final violent thrust of energy, a roar of climax as his frame heaved over the small mech beneath him, his hands gripping the delicate wrists, more screams as the mech’s fingers clawed and left gouge marks in the floor.

Cooling metal ticked quietly, the darkness was lit by two glowing sparks. Barricade recovered first, pulling the still shaking mech close. A single clawed digit touched sensitive spark casing, then his hand closed over it. The small mech moaned helplessly, pushing up and into his touch. Barricade smiled, satisfied, and helped the small chest plates to close. He would be back, and soon.

He curled around the small one, drawing out their last few moments together. His field had opened up from its usual tight coil and was firmly enmeshed and synched with the small mech in his arms. Barricade was surprised, but only a little. This mech was the only one he ever held, the only one he didn’t push away and leave as soon as he was through with him. This one brought him comfort, relief from pain, lulled the wild thing inside of him into calm. That his field joined in only added to the encounter and left him sated and purring contentment.

He tipped the small mech’s head up and looked down into the dark blind optics. His thumb stroked over beautiful mouthplates that parted beneath his touch. An odd, wistful feeling came over him then, the desire, just once, to see his favorite gazing up at him, optics fiery with passion, to hear his name moaned out and feel the touch of those mouthplates to his.

Arms crept up around his neck; Barricade rumbled at the needy whimpers.

“Stay with me.” The beautiful tones were a sigh, a whisper of longing.

He nuzzled sensitive neck plates. “I’m right here.”

“Stay with me, bond with me.”

Barricade stiffened and pushed the mech away; his field dropped out of synch and snapped back and away from the other’s as though burned. He got to his feet and turned towards the exit, his frame tense, vents blowing harsh rushes of air.

“Bond with me,” came the whispered plea once more. “My spark calls for you. I- I don’t even know who you are, and already you are a part of me.”

Barricade froze, faceplates twisting with pain and a longing that took him by surprise. He shook for long moments, fighting, despairing _you have to give this one up, you know this, you have no choice_. Barricade snarled silently; there were never choices he could make, only need and a dead Guardian’s directive.

Pain finally gave way to anger and grim determination. His only goal was survival; his only need, to stay alive. It beat through him, filled him up, pushed everything else away.

“Do not come to me again.” Tones icy cold, stripped of the deeper harmonics that would give him away. Rejection and warning pulsed through his field. “I have nothing to give you.”

The wild thing clawed viciously at his spark and howled in protest as he turned away, the spark-broken moans of the small mech fading to silence.

\------------------------------------ 

**Medbay -- Present day**

Something was calling him, nagging and insistent. He resisted, stubbornly clinging to visions and dreams and his foggy refuge. He knew that call and where it would lead, but when the call became a tug and then a steady pull, he was helpless.

He landed abruptly back in the bright place, with pain raking sharp claws over internals, the deeper ache of hunger grinding through him.

He shuddered as the hard one grunted and crouched over him, making its usual deep thrumming sound. He did not like that sound but detected no immediate threat and turned his attention to the presence of the other one all but draped over his hood.

It was small, this one, surprisingly so. Soft touches moved over him, small digits delicately questing, an intriguing sensation. Olfactory sensors detected the smell of cleaning solvent. His sensor net had pinged repeatedly--and annoyingly--about the dirt and grime that coated his frame, the foreign matter contaminating his internals. Now, the small soft one was cleaning him. He purred silently, welcoming its efforts.

The small one had an odd energy field but it blazed like a beacon, strong and welcoming. He struggled with resonances, his own field wavering and hardly the strength to attempt a synch up, but still he tried, quivering with those soft touches, trying to pinpoint that elusive field with his own. He gave it up with a ragged vent of air, engaging what was left of his sensor net instead, the better to enjoy more of the soothing, pleasurable sensations. Its ministrations pleased him. Perhaps he could lure the small one into remaining with him.

Hunger gnawed at him again. Some alarm somewhere was going off and the hard one was making sounds, noises, nonsense he couldn’t understand. He wanted the big hard one to go away. The small one could stay.

“...ready... slow... shock...careful...”

The soft touches of the small one became a stroking motion that set his frame quivering. Something cold and smooth was slipped into him and then liquid heat was pouring into him.

He shuddered as it spread through him, systems running hot and hard. The surge of heat and energy, the soft strokes of the small one, blended together into one. His entire frame quaked, consciousness blanked out with the force of his overload, a small miracle in his pit of pain.

It left him full and sated and free of pain for the moment. Such relief. The small one had cleaned him, fed him--and the _pleasure_ it brought. He wanted more of that, much more. The Saleen’s demanding engine growl ended in a rattling cough.

Mikaela winced and laid a hand lightly on the hood of the hulking wreck. “That sounded painful, Ratchet, he’s running really hot.”

“System surge as he took up the fuel.  Continue monitoring the flow, I will inform Optimus.”  
  
Ratchet stood, visibly relieved, and began to open his comm to Prime. He paused, staring fixedly down at the Saleen, torn suddenly between guilt and duty. If he informed Prime, he would be there in moments and Ratchet would have no more excuses.

Barricade had been an outright escape from the confrontation he knew was coming; the Decepticon was a mess and no one had questioned the medic’s singular focus on repairing him. Prime had left him undisturbed, the Medbay had become a refuge, but now... Optimus would want to know. With the Matrix informing him of each and every spark returned to its Maker, Optimus needed this. A slim hope, the chance to reclaim just one.

A subsonic wail pinged his audials, Barricade broadcast his need again and Ratchet vented a sigh. His path was set, nothing would change that now. But the Decepticon’s path...

 _Why not let him try?_  
  
Ratchet gave a resigned flick of plating and then locked it down tight and opened his comm.

“Optimus, Barricade is online.”

_tbc_

\------------------------------------ 

A/N: Happy New Year! My deepest thanks to my lovely beta, quidamling for ideas, suggestions, plot and scene development, and overall flogging me with whips to keep me focused. >3 Much love, hun. ♥♥♥


	17. Chapter 16

Notes:

\-------------- Denotes scene breaks  
~~~~~~~~~~~~ Denotes breaks within scenes

\-----------------------------

 

**~ Chapter 16 ~**

**Medbay - Present Day**

The grey fog was lifting. More and more he found himself in the bright place, but still with no clear idea where he was. Artifacts cluttered his visual field, enough to render it useless. He could detect shadowy movement and nothing more. Auditory sensors were better. Though most of what he could detect was strange and nonsensical, he at least had a warning when anything approached.

The Saleen shifted against the wall, easing forward to face the sounds coming towards the vehicle.

They were early today.

This was not his time to refuel, not the little one’s time to attend to him. It had spent long hours yesterday cleaning debris from his interior and polishing his plating. Its efforts pleased him.

The sounds came very close. The big one’s touches moved over him, hard and impersonal, with none of the loving attention the little one gave him. Invasive scans had his plating locking down tight and then he was confined and immobilized in one dizzying swoop and lift.

That meant only one thing.

_“need to reach joints... frame....entire area... scrap and rebuild...”_

Agony. Fiery pain lanced through every circuit as entire sections of his armor were torn off. No way to block it, no way to fight. Too broken, too ruined, no defenses. More agony, the sounds of rending, tearing metal. He was being ripped apart piece-by-piece while still alive. His frame convulsed.

_“Wait…”_

The torture stopped. The Saleen shuddered relief.

_“...sensor... reach... switch....”_

Something warm and soft, a gentle touch, reached into him. The little one. He welcomed it with a low engine groan, his tattered field curling around it, embracing and welcoming. The softness moved inside of him until it reached the burning pain and then everything went numb and he sank back down into greyness.

This was his world now: hard and soft, bright pain and grey foggy nothingness.

\----------------------------------------------

**Cybertron - Distant Past**

Another public punishment. He was bored. He’d already witnessed two today, and they were nothing compared to what Megatron did to him. A mech was led out, his wrists were bound to a large hook, the small frame lifted to hang and twist as the energy whips cut deep. The punishment began, and Barricade’s optics snapped to the platform as familiar screams rang out, not with overload, but in agonizing pain. He watched in horror and then a movement to the side caught his attention.

Megatron, leaning forward on his throne, watching him. _Him_ , Barricade. His fuel pump heaved. The tyrant knew. How did he know? He couldn’t, he was guessing.

The mech’s voice pleaded and screamed, the small frame writhed and bucked in a sickening parody of interfacing. Energon and lubricant dripped onto the platform. Twenty lashes. The first guard stepped back and another took his place.

His systems churned with fear. The wild thing inside sprang to dangerous life, enraged and howling. He was going to snap, he was going to break and lose all control. Force his way to the platform and rip the guards apart or worse, attack Megatron. His chances were slim to none, his odds of living very long afterwards, nil. He clenched his fists, claws crunching together with a harsh clang. He couldn’t, he couldn’t. It was what Megatron was waiting for, the confirmation, the proof that the small mech meant something to him.

Tiny tremors shook him with every scream. The crowd was murmuring now, asking questions. What did this one do to deserve such a harsh punishment? It must have been something terrible, some awful failure.

Barricade closed off his audials, but he couldn’t look away, couldn’t shutter his optics or Megatron would know. The tyrant was still watching him. Did he know or was he guessing?

The punishment halted as Megatron lifted a finger. His private comm link crackled with static.

 **::** You can stop this. You have only to ask **::**

Leverage, a way to control him, a way to break him. The small mech would be held over his head at every turn, tortured again and again. He would be on his knees forever, begging for his life. Megatron would never be satisfied until he was crawling on his belly and whimpering at his feet, finally broken.

 **::** Come now, Barricade. Surely you don’t wish to prolong this pretty little mech’s agony? **::**

The seductive whisper dripped like acid. How did he find out? How?

Logic flayed him, cold and merciless. Attack and die. Surrender, accept defeat and save him, and Barricade would never be free again. A violent tremor shook him. He saw that slow, hated smile spread over Megatron’s face.

Something cold and dark spread over him with that smile. Time stopped as it wrapped around him, sent icy tentacles into his spark, froze his processors. The energon flowing through him slowed to a crawl, intakes paused.

Megatron raised a finger again, and time moved forward. Barricade watched with dulled optics as the only one who meant anything to him was beaten, metal plates shredded, protoform exposed. No movement now, no response when the whips cut in.

The voice that whispered love no longer screamed. The one who kissed him with such passion, writhed beneath him in overload and begged for more, hung limp. Megatron’s finger finally lifted once more, and the mech was brought down. No cries, no whimpers, no moans. The others were filing out of the hall and Megatron was watching him again, the look slightly puzzled now. He’d been sure of this one then, somehow he’d found out.

Barricade’s optics burned with contempt, his mouth twisted into a cold smirk, and he had the bitter satisfaction of seeing Megatron blink as the Hunter stared him down. Megatron turned and left, and Barricade gave a last look at the mech being carried away. The cold and darkness hovered over him, working their way into his systems.

The small mech offlined two days later, and the wild raged out of control as the cold and the dark settled down over Barricade and covered him completely.

\----------------------------------------------

“Fucking hell,” Will snarled, hurling his pack against the wall and crumpling into a chair with his head in his hands. He was tired, sore, gritty with sand and probably marginally dehydrated. But that was nothing because someone else was dead.

His team had been picked up by their Humvee transport after their portion of the grid. They were long, exhausting days, sweeping with technology only grudgingly given to them by the ghosts of S7. Will was determined that the only reason that the Simmons goons were playing along at all in sharing their toys was to get another lab rat.

He still did not have all the information, only what their driver could relay when he picked them up. There was a formal debriefing in... he checked his watch, about 45 minutes, once the rest of the teams would be back as well. Just long enough for a shower and some healthy swearing and ranting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We were near the outermost edge of the grid,” Lawson, a fresh faced and newly commissioned officer said, standing straight before the assembled brass ringing him in a semicircle of desks like an inquisition. He remained sure and calm, burying his emotions well. Lennox was impressed, the soldier was young and probably too new to losing men under his command.

“One hour and three minutes from our turn around back to base, Wessan got a ping from the tracer, he moved out to pinpoint, the rest of us covering,” Lawson took a breath and blinked.

“Take your time,” Will prompted, ignoring the glare from one of the higher ups. He watched closely, reading between the lines while the soldier struggled to remain professional. Lennox could already tell that this debrief was just salt in the wound, the team had no idea what had happened, still in shock over the sudden and unexpected loss of a squad mate.

Lawson tipped his head in a nod and croaked “Sir.” It only took that brief reprieve to get back on track as he quickly straightened his spine and continued. “He called out that there was a rock ledge, and the signal might be affected by the terrain. Then, there was a puff… no, a blast of sand and the ledge gave way underneath him. We all snapped eyes on him when he yelled and fell. We could hear… hear him tumble down the rock… face.” Lawson’s head dipped and white flashed as he raked his teeth over his lower lip.

“And?” The Colonel next to Lennox barked.

Will snorted indelicately through his nose. _And then a soldier died, moron,_ he very intelligently refrained from snapping.

“And... we called for a response from him, but got nothing. I ordered half the team to remain and watch our six, the rest went to retrieve him,” Lawson opened his mouth mutely for a moment. “We approached the ledge carefully; we already knew it was unstable. Our medic Ridan, and then Andrews repelled down with Danis belaying. Ridan reported that Wessan was almost definitely killed on impact. Numerous cuts and abrasions, broken bones in the extremities, it looked like his neck had snapped and he had a puncture through his chest. We called for immediate recovery and brought him back up the rock face,” Lawson finished quietly.

Furrowing his brow, Lennox tapped a finger against the table and then raised his hand. His CO nodded for him to speak. “So it was stable enough at the ledge that you were able to get two men down and then back up with the stretcher?”

Lawson nodded. “It seemed all the loose rock had fallen with Wessan. We had no trouble retrieving him.”

“Mmm hmm,” Will agreed, trying to figure out the niggling feeling that there was something amiss with what happened to Lawson’s team. “Was there anything else you noticed for your report?”

“Wessan’s weapon was down four rounds when we secured his gear,” Lawson said slowly. “There were a few cracks that sounded like fire right after we lost sight of him but we could not confirm then. It happened… it was seconds. Less… He must have squeezed the trigger when he was falling.”

Lennox nodded and kept his expression neutral. By all training, Wessan should not have had his finger on the trigger, so falling terror or not, he should not have fired in panic. Everyone in the room knew that. “Anything else?” he asked.

“No sir,” Lawson replied, putting his hand behind his back in a parade rest as he turned to the Base Commander. “That is all.”

The Commander looked from Lawson to the other assembled officers. Lennox raised his eyebrows in a plea to release the young man back to quarters. It took a moment, but the Commander seemed to agree, saying a simple “Thank you, Lieutenant, you are dismissed”

Lawson breathed a “Yessir,” and strode quickly from the room.

The torment continued on for another few hours for Will. He and all the officers had to interview the rest of the squad, the medical team, and review the evidence before deciding that Wessan’s death was accidental until proven otherwise.

But something about it still put a thorn in Will’s brain.

\----------------------------------------------

**Cybertron - Distant Past**

Barely halfway through the regular morning briefing in the large conference room, Prime was admittedly distracted. Another section head stood up to report, another nod from Prime to go ahead, another voice commenced to drone, and Prime’s attention immediately returned to Ratchet, who was without a doubt avoiding his gaze.

Prime was most intrigued by that reaction. The prestige and benefits to be gained as the Prime’s berthmate were sought after eagerly. Behind his battle mask, his mouthplates curled. He had half-expected, somewhat cynically, that the medic would start staking his claim immediately, the faster to begin reaping all those rewards. Anyone else would have, but he should have known Ratchet wouldn’t fall into that category, he never had.

Optimus had made his interest clear last night, his intentions unmistakable, and Ratchet had shared it, at least until Ironhide had interrupted. His circuits flared with arousal and he clamped it down with a growing sense of frustration.

The medic’s slender hands were fidgeting with a datapad. He could still feel those hands, the unexpected strength as they clung to his shoulders, the sleek, smaller frame that fit perfectly in his arms. If it hadn’t been for Ironhide’s untimeliness, this staff meeting would have been cancelled and he would be enjoying a very lazy, satisfying morning in Ratchet’s berth, mapping out every portion of his frame and coaxing many more of those moans out of him.

He could just imagine the look on his face, the feel of him, Ratchet overloading in his arms, moaning his name... _Primus_. A flash of heat caught him; a rush of energy swept through his systems. His fans whirred to life, and he hurriedly switched them off. He pulled his optics from the medic’s frame and glanced around to see if anyone had noticed his lapse.

Jazz’s visor gleamed. Ironhide’s expression was unreadable. Ratchet was looking down, hands clenched tight around the datapad. A few others sitting closest to him were giving him puzzled looks, while the rest of his staff was focused on the report being read.

The double ping made him wince.

 **::** I’d advise a little more discretion, Optimus. **::**

 **::** Save it for the berth, Prime. **::**

Optimus grimaced behind his mask and nodded to the Section head as he finished. “Your recommendations are noted. Deploy two more squadrons to Sector 567834; we cannot afford to lose it. Increase the watches around the capitols in the remaining sectors. Provide extra rations for the teams running longer patrols.”

Another Section head rose. Optimus caught the quiet ex-vent. Ratchet’s fingers trembled on the datapad.

Prime swore silently and stood. “If you will excuse me, gentlemechs.” The others barely had time to scramble out of their seats before he left the room. Behind him, Jazz called out orders, redirecting their attention. Smart mech.

“Forward your reports to the Prime’s office. Meeting adjourned, gentlemechs. End of the shift highgrade will be waiting for you in the Officer’s lounge...”

Ironhide caught up with him in the hallway and Prime held up a hand. “I know, that was extremely-”

“Stupid,” Ironhide finished for him.

Optimus was braced for a verbal smack to his helm and a well-deserved beat down but then Ironhide blindsided him.

“You knew him? Before?”

Prime’s optics widened, shocked. It was highly irregular to bring up a Prime’s past. The Temple priests did their utmost to stamp out all inquiries and enforce their ruling: What the Matrix made of the chosen mech was all that mattered. The Prime was alpha and omega, the past was less than nothing.

Those canny old optics appraised him, and Optimus was reminded how truly old Ironhide was. The warrior had outlived two Primes, fought a thousand battles, watched their Empire rise to breathless heights and then fall to war and ruin. He was watching it now in its death throes.

It humbled him, that gaze that had seen so much, and more. The mystical aura the priests wrapped him up in meant nothing; Ironhide saw him for exactly who he was. Optimus lowered his own optics and inclined his helm, grateful and relieved. “I did.”

“Thought as much. He’s interested, too?”

“I believe so.”

He heard Ironhide snort and looked up to see him smirking.

“I’m not so old I don’t remember how it feels, Optimus.”

Ironhide chuckled at Prime’s embarrassed churr. “Not that I think you stand a chance with the Council mind you, but by Primus of all the mechs on this planet, you deserve that chance.”

Optimus opened his mouthplates, ready to argue his case, plead if need be, then snapped them shut again at Ironhide’s stern look. The black mech had hands fisted on his hip flanges, all business again.

“Go argue it with them, I’m not done yet. Prime, you _will_ get him killed if you aren’t more discrete. You have training in two joors. Send your young medic to me instead, and I will see about helping him not get killed so easily.”

Jazz all but skated up to them just then, vibrating with urgency. “Optimus, that was--”

“Already covered it, Jazz,” Ironhide rumbled. “First, Prime will be informing Ratchet of his new combat training lessons. Second, Prime needs to learn some discretion. Help him with that.”

Jazz’s visor sparked with a wicked gleam. “Discretion, got it.” He gave Ironhide a grin and a jaunty salute and steered Optimus towards his quarters.

“The old storage bay on the east side? That isn’t used for much anymore. Roof needs patchin’, no one goes there; I’ll get some maintenance scheduled. Eventually. Those security cameras down in hallways 4B and 7D go down a lot. I’ll get them on the list ta be checked. Pretty low priority though, kinda doubt they’ll get fixed anytime soon. A few other places I’ve been meaning ta make a note of, just never seem ta find time...”

They moved out of range and Ironhide shook his helm and headed for the training grounds. “Primus spare me from these damn glitched processor hotspark younglings.”

\----------------------------------------------

Sam roamed the corridors of the base, eyes haunted, avoiding everyone. The screaming in his head had reduced to a private little inner demon voice that warned him away from Ratchet’s scanners, but Sam hardly needed that to avoid the Medbay. Their new resident Decepticon, even in ruins with half his parts scattered all over, still had the power to freak him out and send him running.

He didn’t want to be around Mikaela. She would take one look at him and _know_ he knew things about her that he shouldn’t, about them, what they did together, how they fucked, everything.

Bumblebee. He tried hardest of all to avoid _him_. His Guardian would know exactly how he felt, what Sam wanted most, just by looking at him, touching him... Sam wiped at his mouth, the familiar nausea rising, a sick, fevered look in his eyes.

Most days were spent darting around corners and in and out of rooms, or keeping to the refuge of his quarters, curled up on his bunk, staring into the dark and dreading sleep. Sleep was the enemy. Sleep brought dreams, nightmares, _Bumblebee_. Sam scratched and scratched at the glyphs on his hands until they were raw and bleeding.

 _‘Bee, it ain’t fair for either of you._ Jazz’s voice, and Bumblebee’s optics dimmed, a sad electronic moan pulled from deep down. Tears stung his eyes. Sam had never seen him so defeated.

 _A Guardian should be with his charge._ Ironhide’s voice this time, and Bumblebee’s doorwings hiked up high and quivering while his helm sagged down.

 _Yes, you should,_ Sam shouted, almost a scream. Ironhide kept right on talking, he couldn’t hear him because this was a dream, wasn’t it? But Bumblebee’s helm jerked at the sound and he looked right at Sam and Sam was suddenly drowning in the brilliant blaze of his Autobot’s optics.

The dream shifted and Sam groaned, hands twitching, glyphs burning. He was _here_ again, an unwanted participant in this warped voyeuristic game his mind insisted on playing.

Sighs and moans, the low fast throb of Bumblebee’s engine, they were already well into it. Mikaela was straddling the armored chest, face flushed and tanned skin sheened with sweat, white teeth biting into a red lower lip, that big glistening cable between her legs.

The cable moved and twisted, rippling with power, the hard steady strokes pushing her forward. Mikaela arched her back and braced her hands on Bumblebee’s armor, rolling her hips up and back with each thrust.

Bumblebee’s engine groaned then whined. He seemed to be fighting himself. A strange bright cloud of energy twisted and swirled and reached for the small figure on his chest, then recoiled. Sam could almost hear the crack of rebounding energy. He cringed at Bumblebee’s pained moan. Mikaela leaned forward to give the round mouthplate a passionate kiss.

Sam hissed at her, ready to push her away, shove her off. _Stop, leave him alone, you’re hurting him!_

They didn’t stop, they couldn’t hear him, and Sam couldn’t move, trapped and forced to watch it all play out.

The grille on his Autobot’s chest split into two, the sections rolling back and out of sight. Spark light lit up the darkness with a shower of blue sparks. Pain and desperation was making Bumblebee rough.

Mikaela was jerked forward, naked and splayed out over his spark. She shivered at the contact, held fast in large yellow and grey hands, her hair curled and whipped with static.

The strange energy cloud around his Autobot expanded. Sam moaned as it covered him, connected, and suddenly he was _there_ on top of Bumblebee, pressed tight to his spark. A hot cable thrust deep, energy lit up every nerve ending. Sam was crying, screaming, writhing in a grip of steel, at the very center of a storm of fire and blue lightning.

It ended as abruptly as it began, with Sam on his knees, listening to Mikaela’s whispers of love, his Autobot’s quiet murmurs. He shuddered and twitched through the aftermath of orgasm, wracked with jealousy, moaning Bumblebee’s name.

Same dream, same ending; Sam willed it all to be over. Please let it be finished, let him wake up. But this time when the dream ended, as he looked up at Bumblebee, sick and miserable with longing, Bumblebee looked back at him.

\----------------------------------------------

The Matrix was steady as always, but Prime’s spark seethed with anger. His office, the entire Base, was suddenly too small and stifling. He held onto his temper with difficulty and cut the connection, ending the latest round of negotiations. _My aft_ , Optimus snorted. They were little more than sharp rejections and sharper demands. He had rust in his joints advancing faster than these ‘negotiations’.

Bumblebee was out on patrol. Ratchet was still days away at another cache, gathering supplies. Optimus paced outside, sending a comm to Jazz and Ironhide to join him The alert he had silenced through the last two hours came back to nag at him. He took out a cube of energon, more from habit than any real hunger, and stared up at the night sky, willing his emotions back to calm.

Jazz’s hopeful expression fell as soon as he saw Prime. Ironhide was less than pleased.

“ _Now_ what?”

“I have agreed to allow their military to track me at all times. If I leave the base, I will be accompanied by an ‘escort’ of no less than six of their vehicles.”

Ironhide growled, his plasma cannon gave an angry whirr of warning. “They dare?! You are the Prime!”

“For the love of… Optimus, please tell me this is a concession as part of our new treaty?” Jazz pleaded, putting a hand out to shove Ironhide’s cannon down.

“No, it is not. Though, I have hopes that it is the next step towards a treaty.” Prime’s vocals were cool, but his field was hard-edged with anger.

Jazz’s expression was pained. “But this- This is _personal_. Agree to this an’ no tellin’ where the demands will end. There are other governments we could deal with, Optimus.”

“We need allies, strong ones. Which country on this planet is best able to defend against an attack?” Prime’s optics flicked to Ironhide. The weapons specialist snorted.

“This one. They easily outmatch every other country in firepower.” His plating rustled with irritation. “Their paranoia is also unmatched.”

“Point, Optimus. Who are they tryin’ ta defend against?”

“The rest of the world, at any given moment?” Prime’s tone was decidedly dry. “But for the present, they fear us more than they fear everyone else, and me most of all. They fear what they cannot control. For the sake of an alliance, I am willing to continue trying to work with them. If tracking me lets them feel safer, then I will allow the surveillance. For now.”

Jazz glanced to Ironhide. “Yeah, boss, about our future allies…”

Prime pinned optics on them both. Ironhide rumbled annoyance. “I have firm intel that our ‘allies’ are pursuing a dangerous course to capture Skorponok, not kill him as we were told. They lied to us, Prime.”

The low fuel alert was now an insistent warning. He lifted the cube of energon and drained it, and crushed the empty container to nothingness in one large hand. His field expanded, cold and harsh with anger and frustration.

“Tell me this is leverage for our negotiations.”

In the face of his Prime’s anger, Ironhide folded his cannons down to their smallest forms and crossed his arms. “There is only one way we could have gotten this intel, Optimus, and Lennox is already under suspicion just by association. Inform them and you have lost the best chance we have for a real alliance.”

Jazz’s field flickered through Prime’s, seeking to calm his, anxious and hesitant. “You can’t throw him away like that, Optimus, ya know you can’t.”

Prime’s gaze was narrowed at Ironhide, assessing. “You trust him that much?”

“I have already trusted him in battle, with my life, Optimus. I would do so again without hesitation.”

An optic ridge raised in surprise. “You make a better case for the humans than they make for themselves. One human, at least. I would not have expected you to champion them even six months ago, Ironhide.”

“He is my charge.”

“We got one of their military to trust us, Optimus. He’s one of their leaders; where he goes, maybe others will follow.”

For Ironhide that was reason enough, but Jazz raised a very valid point. Anger deflated suddenly, leaving him tired and cold and bitterly disappointed. Negotiating was useless. Cooperation-- out of the question with their government so riddled with paranoia and suspicion. They were down to exactly one individual they could trust. “Very well. The Captain’s secrets will not be disclosed outside our group.”

He wanted recharge and to forget about the ache in his core for a few hours. Jazz’s field was steady and warm, bolstering him up.

“There is one more thing, Prime.”

The ‘one more thing’ promised to be bad if the cannon sparking fitfully was anything to go by. Even compacted, it telegraphed Ironhide’s mood clearly. Prime tilted his helm and waited.

Ironhide grumbled. “Lennox and his men are spread too thin and not nearly enough firepower for my liking to be hunting Skorponok. Will’s risked everything to keep me informed. I want your permission to go get him if things go wrong.”

Oh, so much worse than simply bad. “That is _not_ an option, Ironhide. You would jump an international border, enter their military base without permission, and interfere with a top secret operation? You may as well call for the strike on our base yourself.”

“If he gets in trouble, I _will_ be going, with or without permissions or treaties or any other obstacles they try and throw in my path!”

Stubborn, stubborn mech. Ironhide was a bigger obstacle than anything the government was throwing at him. Optimus rubbed at the bridge of his noseplating and raised a hand. “Stop, please.” His processors had latched onto Jazz’s point about Lennox, turning it over and over, a glimmer of an idea beginning to form.

Beside him, Jazz suddenly mock growled and lofted into the air, one of those surprising and graceful twirling arcs. It ended with a sudden _smack_ to Ironhide’s helm and the silver mech dropped back to the ground and smirked. Prime stared, jawplating slack.

“ _Pretend_ ta be reasonable, you old bucket of bolts. You’re givin’ Prime a headache.”

Ironhide’s huff was explosive. Jazz was all innocence. Of course.

“Why you little... If you were my size, I’d be parting you from your plating on the Training grounds!”

“Old _and_ rusty. Bring it, ‘Hide. I’m still faster.”

“Enough, you two,” Prime ordered, a slight smile tugging at mouthplates. “Ironhide, you’re right, we cannot leave Captain Lennox unprotected. This will be tricky, at best, but there may be a way to safeguard your charge. Find out if he has anyone in his higher command whom he trusts and I will contact them directly. It’s time we begin working with our real allies.”

“Good enough,” Ironhide rumbled agreement. His cannon had gone quiet and dark.

Jazz’s field gave one last firm embrace and withdrew. Prime was immediately cold again.

Optimus watched them leave, still exchanging taunts; Ironhide solid and steady, Jazz bouncing and cheerful, light on his feet. Ironhide attempted a return swat. Jazz dodged it effortlessly. Laughter floated back, and then Optimus was alone again.

The ache in his internals was spark-deep and growing.

_tbc_

\----------------------------------------------

A/N: I am pleased and proud to have my lovely beta, [quidamling](http://archiveofourown.org/users/quidamling/pseuds/quidamling), join me as co-writer for this chapter. Will’s scene is all hers, and so very much loved. ♥♥♥ Many, many thanks also go to her for suggestions, plotting, the ongoing development of this entire fic, and generally poking me with sharp objects when I wander away. ;p


	18. Chapter 17

Notes:

\-------------- Denotes scene breaks  
~~~~~~~~~~~~ Denotes breaks within scenes

\-----------------------------

 

**~ Chapter 17 ~**

 

Mikaela paused when she entered the Medbay.  The Saleen had moved again, the third time in 2 days, and now faced the door.  Light gleamed off the metal she had polished yesterday, but that didn’t explain the marked change in the Saleen.

 

Mikaela could feel it, an air of alertness, of _attention_.

 

She startled at the low hum, the first sound she’d ever heard from Barricade that wasn’t born of pain.

 

The energon monitor beeped.  The engine hummed.

 

Mikaela frowned, indecisive.  She wasn’t supposed to be in here alone, but Barricade was her patient too, Ratchet said so.

 

The feeling of attention increased.  The Saleen managed to look both expectant and welcoming.

 

_More welcoming than ‘Bee._

 

She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when Bumblebee had changed, but it was there and more glaring every time they were together.  There were times she could almost swear he called out a name that wasn’t hers.  Afterwards, he was just gone, withdrawn, not there with her at all.   

 

_You know who he’s calling for, Mikaela, who he really wants.  Admit it._

 

The monitor beeped insistently.  He was hungry.  Mikaela sighed and pushed away the unwelcome thoughts, moving forward into the maze of conduits surrounding Barricade.  Some of the webbed strands of cabling and filaments stretched taut around the vehicle; she picked her way carefully.  Her hip brushed against one; it thrummed as she passed and Mikaela paused, the first faint alarms going off in her head.  Had the car just shifted?  Did it just move?

 

Metal gleamed.  The Saleen hummed.  The monitor beeped steadily.  

 

She shook her head and pressed on.  She was tired, not sleeping well, imagination running away, eyes playing tricks--that was all.  But oh, that feeling, all that attention.

 

_No one else can do what you are doing, are about to do…_

 

Not like Bumblebee, who was more distant by the day, whose focus was Sam, who wanted Sam and would always want Sam, and that would never change.  She was a just a placeholder, and that hurt too much to dwell on.

 

Tears stung, and Mikaela bit her lip fiercely.  She’d be damned if she was going to start crying again.

 

She was still several feet away from the Saleen when a deep engine rumble startled her.  A cable darted out from under the vehicle and wrapped around her waist.  Mikaela gasped and clutched at the thick coil, as strong as steel and completely unyielding.  There was strength in that hold, enough to snap her in two. The cable tugged her forward, steady and insistent.  Mikaela reluctantly obeyed the command.

 

Another deep rumble was followed by an increased sense of that attention, as though he were riveted by her approach.

 

_You are the singular focus, the center of it all…_

 

The pressure eased when she reached the Saleen but the cable kept her tethered, a very short leash.

 

Another cable emerged from beneath the hood and poised in front of her, slender filaments extended from the tip, glowing bright blue and swaying in an invisible breeze, alive with current.

 

Mikaela shuddered when they approached her.  The Saleen hummed.  The filaments touched, stroking in a delicate questing trail over her face and throat.  The tendrils drifted across the contours of brow and cheek and nose, pausing to examine her mouth with soft feather light touches before moving on to the line of her throat, the wings of her collarbones.

 

The filaments traced over shoulders and arms and down her legs.  They moved steadily over fabric, slowed to a crawl over skin, the tendrils flickering like tongues as they touched and tasted and felt their way over her.

 

 _Sensors_.  Mikaela squinted hard at the filaments.  Ratchet had used something similar a few times, poking long thin glowing threads into hard-to-reach areas to gather data.

 

She sucked in a breath when the filaments eased over breasts and stomach; even through her overalls, she could feel the tendrils growing warmer.  She was still sensitive after last night with Bumblebee.  Her nipples hardened.  The cable around her waist pulled her closer.

 

Mikaela hissed at the black hulking car, tugging uselessly at her tether, skin crawling with static and her hair lifting off her shoulders.  A heavy charge was building around Barricade.  Any part of her touching that metal and the shock was going to hurt like hell.  

 

The Saleen’s engine rumbled, sounding displeased, and the tether gave a quick jerk that left her sprawled across hard, hot metal.

 

The shock and pain she feared dissolved into sauna-like heat and a thousand delicate touches that left her boneless in their wake.  She shivered and goosebumped, skin alive with the sensations of flowing water and silken, delicate touches feathering over her from head to foot.  A rougher sensation intruded, like a loofah scrubbing vigorously, and then it was over.

 

Her fingers had dug into the seams of his hood.  Mikaela released her grip, pushing unsteadily away from the car.  Of all the weird things she had witnessed in the Med Bay, that was… what the hell just happened?

 

The tether still held her in a grip of steel.

 

“I’m fine, I’m ok, you can let go now,” Mikaela murmured, patting the hood.  There was that intense regard again and then the Saleen made a low, grating sound, regard shifting to amusement.

 

Barricade obviously didn’t believe her, waiting for legs to stop their wobbling before he released her. The cable slid slowly from her waist, lingering like a caress before dropping away and disappearing back into the darkness beneath the car.

 

The monitor beeped insistently. The Saleen gave a questioning hum.  Mikaela pushed a shaky hand through her hair and threaded the feeder line into an intake port.  She felt good, tired, but good.

She turned to go.  The drip line would need a good 20 minutes, and it was way past time to tend to the chores Ratchet left her.

 

That attention returned full force and Mikaela’s eyelids fluttered.  She could bask in the glow of it, that intense regard.

 

_Nothing else matters, no one else exists… only you…_

_Stay…_

 

She glanced around the empty Medbay then pulled a soft polishing cloth from the pocket of her overalls.  Just a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

 

_No one but you…_

 

She was needed here.  She was wanted.

 

Mikaela bent over the hood again, running soft cloth along the seams, polishing away the traces of her fingerprints.  She hummed to herself, relaxed and content.  There was something almost meditative about these moments, this work, as she polished and polished the metal still gleaming from yesterday’s polishing.  

 

_Good._

 

The Saleen settled itself under her ministrations with a very satisfied air, engine audibly purring.

 

\------------------------------

 

 _More contact?_ Jazz queried the AI as he entered his quarters. _We’re about at the sparkin’ stage already._

_More physical contact required,_ the AI repeated.

_I’ll see what I can do._

 

One corner of the large quarters was completely taken over with an array of small machines: computer towers, an impressive monitor display made up of multiple flat-screens, audio equipment, and a maze of wires and breakers holding it all together.  A pink minifridge sat next to the towers, its top colonized by a collection of empty bottles sporting labels with bare feet and winging birds and colorful grinning skulls.

 

Jazz grinned as he took in the sight.  Maggie sat at the desk in pink see-through bra and thong and nothing else, peering intently at one of the half dozen monitors.  His vocalizer let out a low wolf whistle.

 

“Time ta go, lovely.  Get some heels on, the rest of you is just fine.”

 

Maggie leaned back in her chair and arched a brow at him.  “Ha.  Nice try.”

 

A monitor beeped and she pointed to it.  “He’s at it again. Signals all over the place.”

 

Jazz leaned over her, visor sparkling with interest.  “Gotta hand it to him, he doesn’t give up easy.”

 

“You two must be related.”  Maggie smirked up at him, trailing a hand over the sigil on his chestplates then giving the plating a gentle rap.  “So tell me more about this ‘sparking’ thing you mentioned?”

 

“Gettin’ there, lovely.  Final check in the Medbay in 20.  But first…”  The scoop up and into his arms was effortless.

 

“First?” Maggie hummed and placed a kiss on mouthplates, shivering as his field connected smoothly.

 

Jazz waggled his optic ridges.  “I got some signals I can show ya.”

 

_Hands caressed her, mouth, lips, the wicked swipe of a tongue right across her…._

 

Her giggles were lost in a moan.  She licked her own lips, eyes closing in anticipation.

 

\------------------------------

 

“You’re dead.”

 

“Damn it!”

 

The first few dozen times Sarah ‘died’, she had cringed and ducked, eyes wide and heart racing, and yes, there might have been a few panicked screams when the holocaust erupted around her.

 

Now, it was simply frustrating.  She walked out of the holographic inferno, panting and wiping sweat off her face.  

 

Of all the things she had imagined at Ironhide’s “I have something for you,” this had not been one of them.  Not even close.

 

Will would have been on the ground with laughter or shooting Ironhide his ‘ _are you fucking kidding me?_ ’ look.  Sarah had tried very very hard for a more polite response.  She closed her mouth, which had been hanging open for several long moments.

   

“For me?  I-- You shouldn’t have.”  

   

“It was no trouble,” Ironhide rumbled, oblivious to Sarah’s dismay as she looked over the brand new ‘something.’

   

An obstacle course, just for her, nested into the back forty and well out of sight of the house.

 

It was a mystery how and when Ironhide had found time to construct it.

 

“Why this?”  Another mystery; Sarah was completely baffled.

 

Ironhide peered down at her.  “You did say you wished for something more to do?”

   

“Well, yes.”  That much was true.

 

“Something outside of the house?”

   

“Yes, but…”  Never in a million _years_ …

 

“This will be good for you.  You need this.”

 

“I… Really?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Ironhide bent closer.

 

“I am your Guardian, Sarah, I will defend you with my very life.  But in case anything happens to me... Well.  A Guardian also teaches his charges how to survive against an enemy on their own.  I have been developing a plan since Will asked me to keep you safe.  This is part of that plan.”

 

How Ironhide managed to convey warm fuzzy feelings with absolute terror was beyond her, but anything big enough to threaten Ironhide was reason enough to be afraid.  The fear suddenly melted away under a warm wave of safety.  She was blanketed, held securely, surrounded by Ironhide’s strength.  Ironhide would care for them, watch over them and keep them safe.  He would defend them against whatever was keeping Will tangled in knots over in Qatar.  Of that, she had no doubts.

 

Sarah laid a hand against leg armor.  “Thank you, Ironhide.  Tell Will not to worry about us.”  Will was a part of this too. Giving him one less reason to worry about them here would be a very good thing for him over there.

 

Sarah was out every morning now, exercising and running the new course with Ironhide as her Drill Sergeant.  Will would be smirking ear to ear.

  

She grabbed the large water bottle, sipping in between pants.  More sweat trickled down her face, her back was soaked, and wouldn’t her old auntie just shake her head at the sight?   _Ladies don’t sweat, Sarah, they perspire.  Gently._

 

Will might even be raising a brow and agreeing with old Aunt Maybeth if he could see her now—sweat-darkened blonde hair and dirt streaked from head to foot.  

 

She laughed a little at that image and leaned up against Ironhide’s leg.

 

“If Will could see me now he’d be dying laughing.”

 

“Would he?”  Ironhide rumbled amusement, and that warm sense of safety blanketed her again.

 

“Rolling.  On the ground.”  Sarah smirked and took another sip of water.  “And my Aunt Maybeth would be scandalized, the poor old dear.”

 

“Who is Aunt Maybeth?”  

 

“Our family matriarch.  Sort of like a Guardian?  She looked after all of us.”  Another fond smile, remembering.  “Will had his work cut out for him, getting her approval.”

 

Ironhide’s quirked optic ridge and interested hum were permission enough to take a break.  Sarah perched herself on one large metal foot, glad for the breather.

 

“She never had kids of her own, but she took us all under her wing and treated us like her very own...”

 

_Dear Aunt Maybeth was less than impressed when Will first met the family.  The sharp-eyed old matriarch looked him up and down and Lennox was uncomfortably reminded of a drill sergeant about to bust his ass.  “Listen here, young man.  I can’t talk to my niece because I can see she’s already head over heels in love with you, so you’d better treat her right or you’ll answer to me.”_

_Sarah blushed and ducked her head.  Will knelt next to Aunt Maybeth’s chair and took the hand she offered, brown eyes intent and voice gentle.  “Ma’am, you don’t need to worry.  Your niece is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”_

_Will spent the next six months exercising all his considerable charm on the old woman and when he proposed to Sarah, her Aunt declared in no uncertain terms, “Sarah Maybeth Collins, you marry that boy or I’ll disown you and marry him myself!”_

_Will’s eyes got comically huge, then he turned to Sarah and mouthed, ‘Save me!’  Of course Sarah had to agree to rescue her Ranger..._

 

Ironhide was still rumbling amusement when she got up to stretch out stiff muscles.  She liked his laugh, it sounded genuine and his armor seemed to hum with it.

 

Eight in the morning and the heat was already building, a shower couldn’t come soon enough.  Annabelle would be waking shortly, and there was breakfast to make and the house to clean, and then on to the gun range and oh, that weapon Ironhide was making, just for her?  Will’s eyebrows would be climbing right up into his hair.  The man and his gunkink.  Sarah smiled at the thought and took another gulp of water.  She couldn’t wait to show it to him.

 

“Your overall time has improved by 10 minutes.  Try one more and we are done for today.”

 

If she was hoping for her story to distract him from another run, Ironhide didn’t fall for it.  Sarah gave a theatrical groan.

 

“Only 10 minutes?  I’ve been at this for three weeks!”

 

“Still an improvement.  Try it again.”

 

“You know this isn’t fair, Ironhide.  You’ve slowed this one up, made it stupid.  I’ll never outrun a real drone, you said so yourself.”

 

“We will only use these while you are learning.”  A huge metal knee joint landed solidly next to her in the dirt. “This is about survival, Sarah. You are learning how to run, how to hide, how to listen for it and how to outthink it, as well as building strength and endurance.  Each minute you stay alive is a minute more I have to get to you.”

 

Bright blue optics peered down and Ironhide extended a large hand.  “Your odds against a real one are about to improve greatly.  Ratchet is almost ready, testing can begin in a few more days. Then the real training begins.”

 

Sarah sighed and stepped close, pressing her forehead against cooled metal fingers.  “Running, hiding, training me to fight.  When are you going to show me what I’m training _for_?”

 

“Soon.”  That deep rumble buzzed in her chest, his finger traced over her back, slow and gentle.   She was soothed and comforted, a soft fluffy blanket wrapped her in layers of safety.  Her eyelids drooped and then something tickled against her skin, sent pleasant chills racing over her body.  Sarah stiffened, blinking hard.  The sensations faded.  Strange.

 

She looked up at Ironhide, about to ask but oddly hesitant.

 

“Ready?”  His rumbled question cut her off, and Sarah nodded and let it go.

 

She _was_ improving, she could tell that much, and markedly better at following his signals.  The entire exercise reminded her of nothing so much as putting a dog through its paces on an agility course, Ironhide’s deep gravelly voice in her ear feeding her a constant stream of directions.

 

“Left…Right…Count to five and double back… head for the ravine… the tunnel… the mountain....”

 

The training was deceptively simple.  Each order accompanied the distinctive whining buzz of a pursuing drone, Ironhide giving her just enough help to maintain a lead on her pursuer.

 

“You are on your own now, listen for the drone.”

 

Sarah mentally swore.  She hated this part.  Minutes, focus on minutes of not dying.

 

She pounded through the dirt track and climbed the long ladder braced against the ‘mountain’—a gigantic stack of hay bales _(hay bales, where the devil had he gotten that many hay bales?)_ held together with tough plastic netting.  The drone buzzed practically in her ear and Sarah flung herself over the top and used the dangling rope to scale down the other side. She dropped the last few feet, landing on deep cushioned padding and tucking into a roll, then bouncing to her feet at the edge and back onto the track.

 

Sarah was proud of that particular move, practiced over and over for the last 3 weeks.  She had slimmed down, the last of her ‘baby weight’ melted off on the strenuous course leaving her trim and toned, muscles adding firmness in places she’d never had them.  She could carry an increasingly heavy toddler around without a hint of strain, she looked fabulous in the bikini she had regretfully tossed aside after Anna was born, and William Lennox was most definitely not going to recognize his wife when he came home on leave.

 

She couldn’t wait.  Her eyes sparkled, sizing up the remainder of the course.  Ironhide had been right, this was good for her.  She looked better, felt better, her days were full and she slept soundly at night.  Things were easier with Will, too.  They talked more, conversations were not as strained, he was looking forward to coming home on leave.

 

Sarah was happy.

 

Her lips curved in an unconscious smile even as she scrambled for the pile of heavy brush to hide and catch her breath.  The pursuing drone sailed past on some unknown trajectory of its own and she took the opportunity to race further down the track, dodging behind boulders _(really_ big _boulders; carried, rolled or hauled in the flatbed of his alt-mode from who knew where)_ and then on to the smaller mountain of pallets.  Ironhide had covered them with chain-link fencing _(fencing, really, and she didn’t want to know where he got_ that _from)_ and she pulled herself up easily, scaling the large stack of pallets to the top and then flattening herself.  

 

The sun was up and throwing long shadows over the obstacle course.  Sarah squinted, searching for the drone.  No sign of it, and she’d rarely gotten this far.  Just one last obstacle, a final sprint and she would finish the course.

 

Triumph surged.  She swung down the other side of pallet mountain and headed toward the ‘ravine’, slipping and skidding down the side of the narrow packed dirt trench and hunkering down in its relative safety.  No sight or sound of the drone.  

 

Stay and wait it out or go?  Go now, maybe?

 

Sarah hesitated, teeth gnawing at her lower lip, sweat trickling down face, back and arms.

Her nerves stretched taut as piano wire and breaths rasped so loud she couldn’t hear the damn thing if it was on top of her.  She was so close to finishing, and she’d be trapped for sure if it caught her here.

 

Go.

 

She heaved herself up the other side, breath ragged in her throat.  There, there it was, the end of the course, so tantalizingly close.  She could do this, just run, now!

 

Ironhide’s growl in her ear told her it was the wrong move.  She gulped a breath and froze, listening for the telltale buzz and ping. There, right… _damn it_!

 

Light bloomed around her and the world went up in flames.

 

\-----------------------------

 

**Cybertron -- Distant Past**

 

“I received an order to report here?”

 

The large black weapons specialist spared the medic the briefest of glances before turning back to  the plasma rifle on his workbench.

 

The corner Ironhide claimed for his own was closer to the Armory and well away from the rest of the Training Center, but the noise was still deafening.  New recruits were hustled between soldiers sparring one on one or engaged in melee fighting.  Shock troopers stormed a line of defense, another group formed a tight ring back to back and took on a furious wave of attack drones.  Weapons fire whined; a few soldiers flinched and rubbed their torsos, and signaled a successful test to the Arms master.  Nothing damaged, all weapons at a fraction of their full power.

 

The din was terrific. The medic raised his vocals and lowered his audial receptors.

 

“Is someone injured?”

 

A small grunt and a sidelong look from Ironhide as he hefted the rifle.  “You got Prime’s message?”

 

The medic shook his helm.  “I got _a_ message, saying to report here.”  Ratchet looked around, helm tilting.  “Why am I here?”

 

Ratchet made a startled bark as he fumbled the rifle suddenly forced into his hands.

 

“To learn.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

He had learned, and learned very well, even accepting combat programming and incorporating a blaster into his frame.  

 

“Watch your proximity,” Ironhide warned them, optics pinned on the medic facing off against another trainee.  Prime was there too, the casual drop-by just in time for Ratchet’s session not fooling the old mech for a moment.  “Don’t let your audience go to your processors, he’s not here to admire your paint jobs.  Stay focused!”  The trainee feinted with a wickedly curved blade, Ratchet dodged and fell back, barely keeping inside the training circle.  “Neither of you have the frame build for sustained melee fighting, so in and out, quick strikes and then get clear and use your ranged...”  Ironhide paused, optics narrowing, then broke into a chuckle, watching Ratchet execute a twist and bounce forward to press his enormous medical saw against the trainee’s neck plating.  “Or you could do that.”  The trainee had meeped and tapped his wrist twice, “Yield!”  Prime’s optics had gleamed with pride, and Ratchet was not at all surprised to receive a note to meet him later.

 

Implacable logic and cold reality warned him time and again that nothing would come of this.   They met in dusty storage areas, in old abandoned areas of the Base, away from knowing smirks and prying optics.  Ratchet couldn’t even say he’d been led blindly down this path, he’d taken it willingly, with full knowledge of where it would lead.

 

The Matrix was now a calm and steady presence, and Optimus was even beginning to hear the voices of the old Primes, ancient wisdom speaking to him in Matrix whisperings.  He was ready.  

 

Soon the High Council would choose the Prime’s Bonded, and once Optimus was bonded, Ratchet would lose him forever.  The Prime’s Chosen would not be him, it would never be him.  Ratchet had everything against him and not even the pride and desire of a Prime would affect that outcome.

 

In spite of everything, he still hoped.  Even the Matrix seemed to favor him.  It happened only once, but Ratchet knew what he saw.  He shivered gazing up at Prime, sensing something ancient and powerful, something _other_ , in the optics looking down at him.  The ancient presence recognized and welcomed him, then it faded away and all he could sense was the loneliness in Prime and the deep hunger as Optimus reached for him.

 

The day Prime was summoned before the High Council, his hope had soared.  When Optimus returned, battle mask firmly in place and optics fired with rage and contempt, Ratchet’s hope crushed down to shards.  The Matrix itself could pop out of Prime’s chestplates and the Council would still deny him.

 

_“We honor you, Matrix Bearer, and grant you your request to make your own choice.  The nobles humbly offer you their finest from the Towers.  Choose, and we will name your Bonding Day.”_

 

_To have come this far and been offered a choice... Prime looked over the glittering assemblage, spark sinking.  Young mechs barely out of their Guardian’s care, optics wide and innocent and worshipful, ready to be molded to his every desire.  Older mechs with supple graceful frames and optics that promised dark delights.  There were even a few mecha the same frame type as Ironhide, armor shined to mirror finish, steady optics offering a solid strength he could lean on; and Jazz, lithe frame and bright smile, beckoning promise behind a mysterious visor.  All of them built for beauty and to attract the lusts of a Prime.  Talented in the berth too, no doubt; the Council had learned from prior failures._

 

_There was open glee on the faceplates of the nobles, avarice in the High Council’s optics.  Power was everything to these mecha, the ultimate aphrodisiac.  How many backroom deals and political alliances had already been made based on the Prime’s would-be Chosen?  Nothing more than proprietors hawking the wares of their whorehouse, the lot of them._

 

_Disgust roiled his tank, Prime could barely keep it contained. “I have made my choice already, noble mechs, but I wish to protect his identity.  His life would be endangered while this war--”_

 

_“WE choose, Matrix Bearer, it is tradition.”_

 

_“Tradition... Tradition... Tradition...”  High Council helms wagged, voices echoed around the lofty chamber._

 

_“High Council Leader, hear me.  I have known this mech for many vorns.  He is strong and steady, I trust him with my very life.  He is the Bonded I desire.  Allow him to remain hidden and out of danger for now.  Once the war has ended--”_

 

_A dismissive wave of an elegant bejeweled hand was his answer.  “We will choose as we always have, Matrix Bearer.  Keep your berthwarmer if you desire him so much.  Until the day of your Bonding, you may take any mech you wish, from wherever you wish.”_

 

_Prime’s optics narrowed, anger seething in his spark.  “And if I choose no one?”_

 

_“TRADITION will be upheld, Optimus Prime.  You swore that oath yourself.”  Regal optics stared him down.  They didn’t care who he took to berth or how many, he could have an entire harem and no one would blink an optic.  He could slum every night in the deepest cesspools of Cybertron and no one would care.  But most of all they didn’t care who Ratchet was or where he came from or what he was to Optimus..._

 

Another note, another meeting.  Ratchet placed hands on the broad chest and leaned into Prime’s embrace.   “How bad was it?”

 

“Very.”  Optimus’ snort of contempt summed it up entirely, the hint of despair in optics made it that much worse.  

 

Ratchet’s vents cycled a sigh of air.  “As if we didn’t see that coming.  Give it up, Optimus, they won’t listen.  They will only make things much harder for you.”

 

“I can delay them.  They don’t care who I want, that much is clear.  And that is perhaps, the plus to all this,” Prime rumbled quietly, “I wasn’t forced to reveal you.  I can continue to keep you safe.”

 

His helm tilted down.  “I choose you, Ratchet, as my Bonded and my Consort.  From this day until we both offline, you are my Chosen, _Beloved_.  Wait with me.  Stay hidden, stay safe, until this war is over.”

 

Ratchet leaned into the light nuzzle, optics darkening.  “If this is the only way I can have you, then yes.  I choose you as my Bonded, Optimus, from this day until we both offline.”

 

He was fully prescient about the promise just made:  There would be no formal declaration, and no Bonding, until the war was over.  Prime’s inner circle would know the true state of affairs of course, but before the optics of all Cybertron, not the smallest hint would escape that anything more than a professional relationship existed between them.   

 

What Ratchet cursed daily and wished to Primus that he could have foreseen was Optimus’ almost obsessive desire to keep him safe.  Even as the war dragged on, vorn after vorn, even when the Council Chamber was bombed and the Council itself ceased to exist, the Prime remained adamant.  In secret, there were passionate promises and even more passionate sharing, but he had not known that vorns would stretch into the hundreds, and then into the thousands, until Ratchet was sick at spark and utterly weary of it all, and still Optimus would not relent.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

**Medbay -- Present Day**

 

Ratchet frowned and leaned close, trying to lay hands on the hood of the vehicle again.  The Saleen backed away, its engine growling, the edge of a ragged field bristling a warn off.  The medic scrubbed a tired hand over faceplates.  Every day was a battle, every day was a little harder.

 

They had come nearly full circle, he and Optimus, and the knowledge twisted cruelly.  Most of his free time was spent in the Medbay now, working with his fractious patient.  Nowhere else to go, his choices narrowing, work was all he had left.  Work long and hard, avoid Optimus, and hope that what had saved him before would do so again.

 

Heavy metal knuckles rapped on the hood.

 

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Barricade.”

 

Thick hooked cables uncoiled from their housing to hover above the injured Decepticon.  Ratchet grabbed the end of one and thumped the hook against the roof.

 

“Stop testing me, you know I’ll do it.”

 

Ratchet slipped the hook into a seam between roof and door and began the silent countdown.

 

 _3_ …

 

Another hook slipped in under the frame.

 

 _2_ …

 

The entire vehicle shuddered.

 

 _1_ …

 

The Saleen gave in, moving forward until it was nearly at his feet.  The brakes locked on with an audible _thump_ and Ratchet spread gentle hands on the hood.  Filaments threaded out from fingertips and into seams, replenishing repair nanites, linking him into core systems.  New code began streaming and was promptly blocked.

 

He raised one optic ridge.

 

“Really?”

 

An ill-tempered engine snarl was his answer.

 

Ratchet sighed and prepared another medical override.

 

The more progress he made, the more time he spent breaking down barriers to get to the actual repairs. Every day was a battle and Barricade didn’t have the energy to spare.  He also didn’t have a choice in the matter and as draining as it was, Ratchet couldn’t fault him for his stubborn resistance.

 

The medical override broke down walls and beat down defensive coding.  The snarling engine revved to an impotent, furious roar.

 

“I am 99.9% certain that your personality matrix is largely intact,” Ratchet grumbled over the noise.

 

He was also 99.9% sure that if Barricade were up and mobile, fangs and claws would be sinking in and tearing out his main fuel line.

 

The coding slipped in behind the override and reorganized the repair hierarchy, setting defensive systems to null and void--again, for the hundredth time.  Nanites swarmed, activating pain blockers and racing over damaged systems, settling in to the most critical repairs. They hummed and buzzed in their simple language, communicating progress. A demand was issued for more energy; extra energon was pumped in.

 

The Saleen quivered from bumper to bumper, engine running hard and hot with the excess fuel.  The entire vehicle finally gave up and hunkered down, only an occasional whine and twitch to show the Decepticon was still online and still very unhappy.  Ratchet could imagine Barricade in an exhausted graceless sprawl, fangs bared in a useless threat.

 

“You can approach, Mikaela.” Ratchet muttered, optics flashing in one last glare at the Saleen.  “He should remain still for the duration of the energon transfer.”

 

“Can I try a scan?” Mikaela asked hopefully, jumping down from her perch with a smaller human-scale external scanner.  

 

“Now is as good a time as any,” Ratchet replied, optics softening as he glanced down at his student.  It was surprisingly pleasant to have a trainee again, and her enthusiasm always touched his spark.  “Report to me when you’ve determined the repairs just made… and the steps he’s taking to undo all my hard work-”

 

“He at it again?” Jazz’s entirely too cheerful tones burst into the relative quiet.

 

“He’s being his usual pain in my aft, yes.”  Ratchet’s scans were already running over the silver mech and his smaller companion.  Pheromones drifted in a haze about the pair.  Maggie had an all too familiar look about her, soft and sleepy.  Jazz looked distinctly smug, his systems still in cool-down mode.  Even without scanners, Mikaela gave Maggie a knowing arch of eyebrows.

 

Some new milestone reached, no doubt.  Ratchet mentally shook his helm and pointed to the main exam station.  “Over there, both of you.”  

 

The medic’s scans stuttered and fritzed under the onslaught of a whirling hot field and a flood of pheromones.  Ratchet huffed. “Never mind, I’ll take you one at a time.”

 

_You couldn’t wait five minutes until AFTER the exam?_

 

_Heh._

 

Maggie yawned and Jazz smirked, stroking a finger over her hair.  “Did I wear you out, beautiful?”

 

 

“You don’t have to be so smug,” she murmured, and leaned over to place her hands on his chest armor and a kiss right in the center of his sigal, just over his spark.  

 

Jazz’s engine revved.  Ratchet’s scanners lit up with the glow from his field.   

 

The medic hurriedly backed away to busy himself with something, anything to avoid that much blatant lust.   

 

The kiss lingered, and Ratchet was ready to throw them both out the nearest window when Jazz finally lowered her to the floor.  Maggie slipped off his arm and blew him a kiss as she strolled over to Mikaela.

 

Ratchet huffed impatiently but Jazz’s optics remained glued to the gentle sway of Maggie’s hips.  She paused to casually bend over and adjust a sandal strap and presented him with a view of a very fine aft.  His visor flashed, mouthplates broadening into a grin.   _Tease_ , he sent through her commlink.  Primus, but it was working too, he could still feel that shapely aft in the palm of his hand.  Maggie’s chuckle drifted back to him.

 

Lust was rolling off Jazz in waves.  The edge of that bright field barely glanced him and Ratchet gasped, locking down plating so fast it rattled.  His own spark twisted with jealousy, bitter and painful.  They had it so easy, they didn’t have to _hide_.

 

“Can we get on with your exam now?” Ratchet snapped, smothering pain beneath an engine growl.

 

“Oh, yeah.”  Jazz’s helm twisted to look at the medic, grin fading.  A little shimmer drifted over his visor.  “Ratchet?  Are you-”

 

“Overworked and underfueled?  Yes.  Trying to rebuild a second,” and here the medic churred roughly at Jazz and made a pointed gesture to encompass the entire silver mech, “shattered mech with no supplies but my own frame, skills and subspace?   Frag, yes.  Can we get started so that you can continue this far away from where I am trying to work?”

 

“Sure, sure.”  Jazz’s field flickered an apology, lust damped down to a more manageable level.  The silver mech straightened, unlatching chestplating and trying not to twitch under Ratchet’s proddings.

 

“Alloy donations continue incorporating…. spark casing integrity at 99.7%...”

 

The medic poked and muttered; Jazz’s attention drifted back to Maggie.  His visor rippled through several wavelengths to settle on her biofield.  It wrapped around her in a brilliant glow, overlaid with his own energy signature.  Swirls of higher harmonics from his field flowed gracefully.  She was gorgeous, and she was all his.

 

“Relays fully functional…”

 

Mikaela moved to stand beside her, looking dim and pale by comparison.  The contrast was striking and Jazz tilted his helm, puzzled.  As active as he knew ‘Bee was with her, Mikaela’s field ought to be lit up like a beacon.

 

“Spark is efficiently energized, no stray energy leakage detected…”

 

Instead, it was the usual dim glow of an organic biofield.  A few brighter spots stood out here and there, but they weren’t a part of any signature he recognized--

 

Jazz’s visor flashed a vivid rainbow of surprised colors before settling into cool silver.

 

“Huh.  Barricade’s field is pretty active.  He been tryin’ ta communicate?”

 

“If he is, that would be a first.  All I get out of him is snarling and sabotage for my efforts.”  Ratchet grunted, attaching a scanning node to take direct readings from Jazz’s spark.

 

“He’s hummin’ at Mikaela, he doesn’t seem ta mind her.”

 

“She poses no threat to him.  Exactly why I assigned her to take over his daily care and energon feeding.”

 

“Not ta mention less stressful for ya.”

 

Ratchet snorted.  “There is that.  He’d be much further along by now if all his energy wasn’t wasted on battling me.”  The medic peered into the spark chamber, monitoring the readouts on the scanner.  “Good, very good, your nanites have finished adapting donor alloys, all now reading as part of you.  Incorporation is nearing 100%.”

 

“And?”

 

Bright visor, eager smile, Ratchet hid his envy under a huff and a roll of optics.

 

“And I will clear you for spark sharing with Maggie.  But take it easy.  Your casing falls apart under a marathon bout of sparking, I will fix you. Again.  But you won’t enjoy it.”

 

Chest plates closed so fast Ratchet’s fingers were nearly caught.  The silver mech slid off the examining table, pointing hastily over to the Saleen.  “So, how about ‘Cade?  We ready to get him up and around?”

 

Ratchet allowed himself a small smirk before turning a sour look on Barricade.  “More than ready.”

 

The Saleen gave a warning growl as they approached.  Ratchet motioned Mikaela and Maggie away from the vehicle, flickering optics in annoyance and growling his engine right back.  “Frag this.  Hack into his defenses and distract him now, Jazz, PLEASE.  Before I decide it is just easier to disassemble and start over fresh.”

 

“On it.”  

 

Jazz bent over the Decepticon, the engine snarled an impotent threat.  For weeks they’d been patiently working through Barricade’s defenses, built not just to keep an enemy out of vital programming, but to take the last of Barricade out of an enemy’s reach if worst came to the very worst.  Jazz was hard pressed to remember the last time he’d seen such an impressive defense hierarchy.  It had taken his and Ratchet’s best efforts to hack in, overwrite, undermine, and now, finally, topple the entire structure, all without compromising Barricade’s core programming.  The hack slid in through shining silver filaments.  The last active defensive systems pounced on it immediately and medical overrides silently tracked them, tracing each back to its source and deactivating them one by one.

 

The Saleen’s roar died away to a few grumbles and then was quiet.  Ratchet leaned back and vented a sigh.  “That’s the last of them.  Let’s get him outside.”   

 

Ratchet released the spider’s web of conduits, cables and sensor filaments surrounding and attached to Barricade.  The entire maze retracted back into recesses in flooring and walls and disappeared.  Only a thin cable remained attached, a lead to guide the vehicle.

 

Jazz patted the hood of the silent Saleen and stood.  Ratchet swung the double doors of the medbay wide and locked them open.  A chirrup of encouragement and a little tug on the lead, and the Saleen followed the mechs into the corridor, quiet and docile.

 

“Everyone ready?”

 

“Prime’s on his way, Ironhide’s almost here.  Bumblee--”  Jazz tilted his helm quizzically.  “He said somethin’ about Sam still not feelin’ well and wantin’ ta stick close.  Still?  How long’s that been goin’ on?”

 

The Saleen nosed up right behind them before the lead trailed and caught under a tire, bringing the vehicle to an abrupt halt.  Ratchet huffed and paused to untangle it.  “Seems to come and go.  I haven’t seen him recently, but Bumblebee was feeding me biological readouts constantly, at all hours.”  The medic grumbled, distinctly annoyed.  “I’m well aware of the appropriate ranges for a human of his age.  If anything changes, Bumblebee has instructions to contact me about Sam.”

 

That just seemed weird.  Okay, Sam was a little weird, but Bumblebee wasn’t.  He wasn’t paranoid either.  Might be good to check in on his protege after they got Barricade all settled in.  

“Probably just as well he’s not here.  Lotta history between those two.”  Jazz’s frown was hidden by his visor; he hurried to open up the doors leading outside the Base and Barricade slid out right on Ratchet’s heels.  Sunlight bathed the black and white for the first time in months.  The vehicle slowed to a halt in a bright pool of sunshine, engine purring.

 

Prime was already there and waiting for them.  Mikaela and Maggie had taken the shorter route out the human sized exit.  Ironhide pulled up and transformed, and of course he had cannons at the ready.  Jazz smirked.  

 

**_::_ ** _He ain’t goin’ anywhere fast, ‘Hide. **::**_

 

**_::_ ** _He’s not getting the chance either **::**_

 

“Ironhide, we are here to assist if needed,” Prime reminded quietly.  The black mech reluctantly powered down, but left both cannons fully deployed and locked on the Decepticon.

 

Ratchet knelt and keyed in the transformation sequence.  It was not under Barricade’s control yet, the medic wasn’t risking damage to delicate repairs or outright jury rigged components.  This would be a test and an opportunity to get at difficult to reach systems.

 

The Saleen shuddered from bumper to bumper.  It creaked and groaned, the sound of grinding metal had Mikaela wincing and Maggie covering her ears.  Ratchet braced Barricade, helping him through the sequence until he was standing on his own.  Darkened optics flickered fitfully then lit up with a pale but steady glow.  Barricade swayed slightly, helm turning as he looked around the small assembly of Autobots and humans.

 

“Status, Ratchet?”  Beside him, Ironhide was tense.  Prime laid a calming hand on his arm.

 

Readouts poured through the medic’s HUD.  “Very good, no stress fractures in joints or frame.  There are fluctuations in his field but spark energy appears normal.  Reading some damage in core programming including processors, language and memory modules.  Now that defensive systems aren’t blocking me and stealing his every resource,  I’ll run some diagnostics and see what’s going on there.  Physically, he’s made considerable progress.  I expect his frame will be repaired and fully functional in another two decacycles or so.”

 

Mikaela shivered when those pale red optics paused to regard her for several long moments.  She’d forgotten after so many months, what Barricade looked like, what he _was._  

 

Decepticon.   _Monster_.

 

Prime’s smooth bass rolled through the small assembly.  “Welcome, Barricade.  We offer you amnesty and a place with us, or you may declare yourself a Neutral.  The choice is yours.”  

 

Mikaela nearly sagged with relief as Barricade’s attention turned from her to Optimus.

 

Everywhere was bright and shadows.  The biggest shadow moved, making nonsensical sounds.  Barricade ignored it, trying to make sense of these new surroundings.  Optics flickered with the onslaught of sensory information, processors threatening to short out with too much coming too rapidly.   _Noise...Static...Pain._ He raised a hand to his helm, claws scraping over metal.

 

“Barricade?  Barricade, you have nothing to fear from us.”

 

Ratchet’s optic ridges pulled down, scanners flaring red with new reports.  Finally something beyond defenses throwing up chameleon mesh and camouflage plating, but bringing a whole new set of worries.  “Careful, Prime.  Scans are picking up much more damage to internal components than they could detect in alt mode.”

 

Prime moved closer to Barricade, his field reaching out to soothe the agitated mech.

 

Pain flared in his processors, his field recoiled under the heavy intruder.  Barricade’s optics flashed to deep red, something between a whine and a snarl emerging from his vocalizer.  He stumbled back, claws swiping viciously at the large shadow stalking him.  Another intruder, the loud angry one, the one who brought pain.  Barricade shrank from his field and backed away.  Where was the little one?  The one who brought energy, the one who gave him pleasure, where...

 

A third shadow-- _Guardian!_ \--but its field was ferocious and threatening.  Barricade reeled, processors beginning to shut down, the world darkening, his ragged field nearly useless.

There.  THERE.  Right in front of him.  A high whine escaped.  It was here.  It had come.  Claws reached out blindly, tattered field wrapping the small one close.  

 

Mikaela screamed.

 

_tbc_

 

  
\----------------------------------------------

A/N: A big thank you for all the kudos, comments and encouragement, lovely readers!  This fic continues, slowly but surely.  Many, many thanks also to my lovely beta, [quidamling](http://archiveofourown.org/users/quidamling/pseuds/quidamling), for suggestions, editing, plotting, and the ongoing development of this entire fic.  So much love, hun, so much. ♥♥♥

  
  



	19. Chapter 18

Notes:

:: Denotes comms  
\-----------Denotes scene breaks  
~~~~~~~~~ Denotes breaks within scenes

\-----------------------------

**~ Chapter 18 ~**

_“Ironhide, we are here to assist if needed.”_

Fine, so he wasn’t here to blow a hole in Barricade. Didn’t mean he had to like it.

With Prime’s arm restraining him, Ironhide glared at the injured Decepticon, voicing his displeasure with a growl before pointedly setting his battle AI on high alert. Injured ‘Con or no, he was in charge of security and that was staying on.

Ratchet fretted and fiddled with the transformation sequence, Jazz was busy trying to coax something more than a snarl out of Barricade’s comm, and Prime did his sage observer thing, but until that scrap heap made a threatening move, Ironhide was superfluous.

Chafing at the inactivity he turned his attention to his charges. Here at least, he could be of some use. Sarah and Annabelle had three more hours in town before his return; lunch, something called a ‘Mommy and Me’ class, and then some shopping before requiring pickup. Ironhide had been reluctant to leave them, but they were there and the danger was here. Just as well they were safely in town for now.

His battle AI kicked up a notch as Barricade haltingly began to move. More a stagger than purposed. Ironhide pinged an acknowledgement detailing new parameters, and began looking over the latest data from Will Lennox. Skorponok’s trajectory had changed, the randomness shifting from roughly circular patterns with the Base as its center, to movements covering a 180 degree path and moving away.

The AI alerted him again. Prime had moved to face Barricade, offers of amnesty and safety were being ignored. Typical. Ironhide dismissed the alert and returned to studying the data. Guardian programming and instincts were going to war over the Captain’s intel. Skorponok’s movements still covered too much area to make the search teams effective, and its trajectory was leading the men further and further away from Base. The situation was beyond frustrating, and dangerous, and it was all Ironhide could do not to demand that Prime let him join his charge _right now._

For at least the thousandth time since Lennox had deployed, the Guardian tapped into the security tag the human wore, reassuring himself with the steady biorhythms that Lennox was safe.

Focus ticked steadily higher; again his AI sounded an alert, and Ironhide absently acknowledged. 

“Ratchet?” Prime’s helm tilted as Barricade snarled and backed away, stumbling around blindly to suddenly stopped in his tracks.

“Scanning now. We’re looking at visual, auditory, sensory, and processor damage at the very least, possibly severe.”

The AI finally got its master’s attention with a sudden shrilling of its battle alarm: FRONT AND CENTER, _NOW_!

Ironhide’s optics pinned, narrowed and assessing, every battle system snapped to high alert. There was something strange about the injured mech, something had changed. Slow steps instead of a stagger, his helm moved from side to side, movements efficient, controlled and purposeful.

_Pattern established, tracking behavior confirmed._

The ‘Con was very nearly deaf, dumb and blind, what could he possibly be tracking? No, he couldn’t be, he was too damaged, but the AI was insisting its analysis was correct. 

Cannons automatically powered on but he couldn’t fire, not at this range, the humans were too close.

_Target acquired._

Targeting what? 

_Verify!_ Ironhide rapped out the demand. The AI was replying before the command completed.

_Verified. Analysis of target acquisition estimated at 99.8% accuracy._

_Frag._

The Decepticon froze, then made a sudden lunge, claws out and grasping.

Mikaela screamed and stumbled back. Jazz shouted a warning and scooped up Maggie. Ironhide snarled, both cannons aimed directly at the ‘Con, when Prime moved to intercept Barricade and a dayglow green blur barreled into Ironhide from the side.

“Don’t even think about it,” Ratchet snapped, jerking Ironhide's hands together and tugging them to his own chest. Ironhide heard the clicks of gears and cables in his arm as Ratchet braced himself, down to balancing his weight with a shift of his hips. The AI took care of the rest, cannons powering back down and a failsafe initiating to avoid friendly fire.

“Fine,” Ironhide grumbled, still in battle mode and seeing red even if his AI failed to concur. 

Ratchet’s mouthplates twitched. “Didn’t think I knew about that failsafe, did you?”

“Smart aft.” Ironhide looked over Ratchet’s shoulder to see Prime holding Barricade down, one huge knee pressed into the center of the Decepticon’s back and one of the clawed hands twisted behind his back in an effective lock. Ironhide would have preferred a bit more weight and a little bit harsher, but it would do. 

“Ratchet,” Optimus interrupted, deep tones a little shaken, “his field feels..” He paused, a myriad scenarios and calculations flying through processors, “... _wrong._ I can’t calm him, I can’t even reach him. How far did the purge get?”

“The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question,” Jazz muttered to Maggie, safely in arms.

“I don’t know. It may have been close to completion before I stopped it.” Ratchet’s field flickered against Ironhide, torn between allowing him time to stand down and going to his patient.

Maggie craned her neck to see past Prime. “Mikaela, are you ok?”

Mikaela was slowly climbing to her feet, a wary eye on the Decepticon. “Yeah, ok.” She backed further away from the large claws scrabbling in the dirt. The monster was still after her, still trying to get her.

A low whine stopped her. Barricade’s helm was moving, blind optics turning her way. A shiver, a flicker of sensation against her skin caught her by surprise.

_Stay..._

Want, need, overpowering. The same as in Medbay.

_Only you.... please...._

Not enticing now, not luring, this was a plea, a cry for help.

“Barricade?” Mikaela breathed, incredulous.

Ironhide gave Mikaela a long look, turned a sharper one on Barricade, watching the desperate flail and grapple, claws digging great furrows into the earth trying to reach her.

“Off.” He pushed Ratchet to the side as the medic hissed a warning, retracting his cannons to their smallest forms before approaching Prime and the fallen Decepticon. “I won’t hurt him.”

_Swore to Primus I wouldn’t do this…_

Ironhide knelt, field extending. Barricade’s helm turned, blind optics searching, beginning to struggle beneath Prime again. 

_Fear, panic, dread… little one… danger… GUARDIAN!_

Ironhide laid hand to helm, deep hum answering the recognition. His field carefully gathered in the tattered, damaged one, just enough to make a connection, pulse soothing calm and a stern warning. 

_Yes, Guardian. Stop now, Barricade. You will hurt the little one. You must be careful._

A tight whine answered him, but the claws ceased their restless movements. The field clinging to his conveyed strong emotions but in such simple thoughts, Ironhide suspected more damage than even Ratchet knew.

_Little one… MINE…. Safe, safe, safe…_

An optic ridge raised. Another appraising look at Mikaela, who was watching them both now with undisguised fascination. The proprietary claim was interesting, to say the least, but he could detect nothing but that the little one’s safety was paramount. Ironhide shook his helm, muttering. He had bigger concerns than whatever might be going on with these two, but he could at least provide some guidance.

The Guardian’s field surrounded the weaker, the command rolling through field and processors.

_Protect the little one, Barricade, keep it safe._

Ironhide’s mouthplates tightened as the Decepticon’s affirmative fell immediately into the familiar compliance of charge to Guardian, protocols meshing neatly to encompass his new role. Beside him, Prime rumbled approval. 

“He’s responding to you.”

“Of course he is,” Ironhide grumbled sourly, and he didn’t have to look around to know Ratchet was smirking and Jazz was grinning openly.

He tried to withdraw then, pulling back as gently as he could, but Barricade’s field clung to his, showing surprising strength for one so damaged. A single thought pulsed through, a plea, a beg, repeating and insistent.

_Guardian, return? Return? Return?!_

He laid his hand on Barricade’s helm again, his field bolstering the weaker one with a Guardian’s strength and promise.

_I will return. Rest now, Barricade._

Another pulse of willing compliance, then the command took hold. Barricade stilled and relaxed, dropping into an exhausted recharge.

Ironhide watched Prime gather up and carry the offlined mech back to Medbay. Primus Below, what the Pit had he just gotten himself into? Frag, frag, _frag._

\-----------------------------

_It was done. The Allspark was gone, safely out of reach. A huge, monstrous hand lifted him high into the air. A sharp digit dug a furrow into his plating, the pain registering on the sensors of his throat. Processors did a stutter-stall when the digit dug deeper, lifting and tearing plates away. Bumblebee struggled, legs kicking, hands clawing, twin trickles of energon and lubricant seeping down his chest. Another plate gone, and he felt it like hot slag poured into an open wound. A thin, high scream pierced his audials._

_That was him, his scream._

The Camaro’s engine moaned, the entire frame shuddered.

_A menacing growl grated against audials, “Take this message back to your Prime: ‘You won’t win this.’” Bumblebee’s retort was cut off before it could form. Claws dug into his throat, shredding cables and infrastructure. Agony lanced through his core, fingers clawed feebly at the monster holding him, screams echoing in audials._

_“And you, little Autobot,” deep threatening tones vibrated into twisted metal and exposed cabling, “the Allspark may be out of my reach, but you don’t get to brag of your actions here today.” Sharp claws wrapped about the core of his vocalizer, almost a gentle caress before Megatron made a fist and crushed Bumblebee’s vocalizer into a sparking ruin._

_His spark stuttered; warnings beat through every system, shock and pain and energon loss initiating the shutdown. A vicious laugh, a sharp shake to drag claws from his throat, and when the monster finally let him go, Bumblebee was in stasis lock before he hit the ground…_

He jolted out of nightmarish recharge when a hand fell on his door. 

“You have nightmares, too?”

“Sam! I-” Bumblebee choked on his reply, engine whining, “You startled me.” Recharge nightmares, old memories haunting them, with a war lasting as long as theirs had, no one was spared.

He ran scanners over his human, a sinking feeling in his tank. Scans showed nothing out of the ordinary but everything about Sam just screamed _wrong_ : The too thin frame, the constant clawing at the marks on his hands, the haunted look in warm brown eyes and the alien flash of blue at their centers. Even his biofield was off. It glowed dim and sickly and left Bumblebee chilled to the core.

The hand stroked him, the glyphs on the palm warm, almost hot, but the hand itself was icy cold. The Camaro shifted uncomfortably under the touch.

“Do you, ‘Bee?” 

Sam leaned his head against the side window, too tired to hold it up. Fevered skin, restless hands, the glyphs burned against metal. 

Alarms clamored in his processors. Sam needed help, he needed a hospital, he needed Ratchet--

***Guardian, he needs you.***

The voice was startling in its clarity, systems trying and failing to identify its origin. Not coming through comms, not a master override or a virus. The voice seemed to come from everywhere, smooth and deep and strangely familiar.

The boy was beginning to shake against his frame. Sam raised his head, bright blue pinpricks centered in brown eyes. The glyphs blazed hot. 

A single ping through to the Medbay was enough to inform Bumblebee there would be no help today. The trial with Barricade had nearly ended in disaster and Ratchet currently had his hands full stabilizing him again.

***Guardian, he needs your help.***

How? What help could he give, what did he have that could possibly help Sam?

He wasn’t aware of asking out loud, but the voice answered him anyway.

***Safe haven, Guardian. He needs that, and you.***

“’Bee?” His hand tugged at the handle, and Bumblebee opened for him, ignoring the flash of blue centered in brown eyes. Sam curled up on the seat, heat from his body radiating into the cab.

***Guardian, he needs your protection.***

What protection? He couldn’t protect Sam, wasn’t protecting him now. As a Guardian, he was failing miserably.

***Guardian, you have sacrificed.***

Images flashed through his processors: Sending the Allspark off of Cybertron, safe from Megatron; taking the cube out of Hoover Dam, the desperate race to Mission City; lubricant and energon streamed from a ruined vocalizer; legs blown off, crawling to Sam over broken rubble to hand him the Cube.

***Guardian, you have not failed.***

“Feel better in here, with you. Feel safe, ‘Bee,” Sam mumbled, hands slowly stroking the leather of his seat. “I haven’t slept in forever, too scared.” His voice hitched, cut off by a choked sound. Something wet hit the backseat, then another, and another. 

***Guardian, please…keep him safe.***

Safe haven. He could do that.

Bumblebee wrapped his charge up in glowing field and soft webbing and low crooning hum, rocking back and forth on his shocks. 

“I’m here, Sam, I’m with you. I won’t ever leave you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam tossed and turned in the backseat, fevered mutterings in broken dreams. Something strange was coming, bearing down on him. Shadows moved and darkened, indistinct shapes, form without feature. Optics glowed out of the darkness, blues and purples and reds. Voices muttered over his head, arguing, protesting, some angry, others resigned. 

**_*An organic? Impossible! ...It was not meant for this… But it did, it has… We always knew there was a possibility… For when there was no other choice! Not now, not like this! ...Then it is lost to us? ...We were so close, so close!*_ **

***It is done, arguing is fruitless.*** A single voice, deep and resonant, cut through the babble. A gigantic shadow approached, towering over the rest. 

The others deferred, bowing and falling back. **_*Can it be undone?*_**

The giant paused, considering, turning blazing blue optics down to look at Sam. He shrank back. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Sam curled up into a tight ball, fingernails digging into the glyphs in his palms, whispering, begging, a steady chant in his mind. ‘Bee! ‘Bee! _Bumblebee!_

***It will be difficult, but my Prime has spoken. Not one more of these must be sacrificed.***

The answer to his prayers came with the heavy thud of metal footsteps, the whirring of large gears, and suddenly he was there, right there, metal warm and solid against his back. Sam huddled against Bumblebee’s foot and Bumblebee crouched low, mantling protectively over his charge.

**_*It grows stronger…the organic will die…it hurts him…not designed for this…*_ **

The giant leaned down. Brilliant blue optics the size of a house regarded Sam. 

***Child of another race, you have welcomed my children and fought bravely beside them. For this, you have my deep gratitude.***

An enormous fingertip touched delicately. Sam’s cry ended on a soft moan, his entire body trembling. 

***I am saddened that your efforts have brought you a burden you were never meant to bear. I know it hurts you, but for now, little one…***

***Relief.***

The voice resonated, vibrated, a call echoing through his mind, and something deep inside answered. Sam slumped, shivering, the relentless demonic itching of the glyphs fading away. 

***Comfort.***

Another moan, his eyelids fluttered. He was bundled and wrapped up, swaddled in layers thick and soft and warm. All the nausea, the tremors, the bone-deep aching misery of his body vanished under a wave of sauna-like heat. 

***Peace.***

Like flipping a switch, the nightmare screams and angry cacophony stopped, and there was only blessed, blessed quiet inside his head. Only him in there, alone. Sam sobbed openly, pressing tight to warm metal. 

_ThankGodohthankGodthankeverythingthankyouthankyouthankyou._

***Sleep now, little one, I have done all that can be done. The rest will be for you, Guardian.***

The great optics turned to him and Bumblebee churred anxiously, hovering over Sam.

“Please, what is wrong with him?” 

***There are consequences at play here I did not anticipate. Great care must be taken not to damage him further.***

“He’s sick, he needs our medic.”

***Your medic cannot help him. What is happening is beyond the scope of anything on their world, or yours.***

“I don’t understand.”

***Guardian, when the Allspark was destroyed, it sought an anchor; your charge was closest to it. Pieces of it embedded within him, but they are in a transient state--half here, half scattered across the eleven dimensions.***

“You know this? If it is within your power, please help him! Get them out!”

***If I called them forth now, they would be reborn to this dimension, but their return would kill your charge.***

“If they are Allspark shards, maybe Prime can-“

***No.***

**_*No…no…no….no…*_** A chorus of voices echoed the giant.

***The Matrix-bearer could indeed summon them himself, but the end would be the same. The shards would respond and seek out the Matrix. Violently.***

“But they are hurting him.”

Bumblebee could see so clearly here, wherever ‘here’ was. Not the shards themselves but what they were doing to Sam. Scanners read bio signs that shifted chameleon-like, feeding false positives. No wonder Ratchet had not been alarmed; the shards were hiding themselves, camouflaging, masking a reality that was quite different. 

Stress patterns glared bright red, biorhythms and blood chemistry were off, immune system and metabolism, all disrupted and growing worse.

A great shudder wracked his frame. Bumblebee carefully gathered up the sleeping boy and cradled him to his chest.

“Sam is dying.”

***The shards require energy to make the transition. I am truly sorry.***

One huge fingerpad touched lightly to Bumblebee’s frame.

***There is still hope. Do not allow him near Prime or your medic, their efforts would be well-intentioned but disastrous. Time is what is needed. Use your field to stabilize him while the shards make the transition.***

**_*Time…time… time… need time…*_** whispered pleas from out of the darkness.

***He will remember none of this. You must. Avoid Prime and the others. Keep your charge with you, Guardian. Remember.***

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’ve been wandering the base for half an hour looking for you.” She could tell by the way the car jerked that she’d startled him right out of recharge. “We had a date.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot.” 

The Camaro shifted on its shocks. Mikaela’s eyes narrowed. That little tell was guilt. 

She sighed and patted his hood. There was only one reason he would be feeling guilty. Bumblebee was Sam’s Guardian, that was unavoidable, but they needed to come to some kind of understanding, set some boundaries, especially on date night. “Well, I’m here now and we should talk. Let me in, please?”

“I can’t.”

“’Bee?”

“Sam is with me now. I’m sorry, Mikaela, truly.”

She knew it was coming, dreaded it, but suddenly it was right here and she was face to face with it.

_Sam is with me now._

“And you’re with Sam.”

“Yes.”

Bumblebee had chosen.

Mikaela had to take a step back, blinking back tears, the abruptness breathtaking and cruel and a punch to the gut. She knew, but she still hoped... she really hoped he would choose _her._

So many times, she decided she was wrong, what she was seeing, what was happening between them, and all the while deep down inside, she knew. She thought Sam had closed the door on that choice, and if she waited long enough ‘Bee would come around to accepting it, and oh how she wished she’d had the courage to walk away before the decision was made for her.

She waited too long.

_Used, cheap, just a distraction until he could have who he really wanted._

Her head bowed, tears escaping to slide down a cheek and her chest aching with the effort to hold the rest back, and then pride came to her rescue. Mikaela lifted her head, let him see all the anger and hurt and the shine of tears. She was done making excuses for him. 

He chose, and he was for damn sure going to own all of that choice.

“You came to _me_ , not Sam. You asked _me_ , not him.”

“Mikaela, I never meant to hurt you.”

She felt his field try to connect with hers and fought it back, fury in her eyes and tears streaming freely. 

“Please, tell me what I can do--”

“There is _nothing_ you can do to make this better. You hurt me, Bumblebee, and you used me. It will be a long time before I forgive you for that.”

The Camaro let out a low whine, a tremor went through the frame.

Mikaela took a deep breath and drew herself up. “I don’t want to see you or speak to you for a while. You know my hours. Stay away from Medbay and the Rec room when you know I’ll be there. Clear?”

A hard look pinned the Camaro. The car shuddered, Bumblebee’s vocals a mere whisper.

“Clear. Mikaela, please, let me explain—“

She turned on her heel and left, not bothering to answer.

She paced down the hallway, almost blinded by angry tears, Medbay her goal and refuge. Her cot was here, but Barricade was all the way over there, resting on a hastily jury rigged berth.

If that was him in the yard, really him, somehow communicating with her, she needed that now, someone who wanted her, needed her, only her. She would take that need and longing and wrap it around herself like a shield.

Mikaela could hear low tones in Ratchet’s office; the rest of Medbay was silent and deserted. She pulled the cot across the large room, positioning it just below the enormous berth, plumped up the pillow and climbed in. She could see part of his shoulder and arm, the strong lines of his leg through the web of cables and tubing. Pride stirred at the gleam and high polish of his armor. That was her work, her efforts.

She waited for the first hint of that touch, straining her senses in the dim room, Barricade a still and silent bulk above her. 

_I’m here, Barricade, please talk to me?_

Nothing, no touch, no welcome, no warmth. Nothing to shield her from memories.

_Not riding with him, hands running over his dash and gripping the wheel hard as he raced the wind; not curling up with him late at night, drifting off to sleep to the sound of his quiet engine and contented hum; not seeing his spark, touching, feeling that glorious, hot, explosive pleasure racing through her, body and soul, not ever again._

She was all alone, no one would see or hear. Mikaela turned her face into the pillow and cried.

\-----------------------------

An hour past sunset, the Leader of the Autobots had rolled out of Base and headed into the foothills, escorted by a dozen smaller vehicles. Now Prime transformed and stood up, moving off the road and onto a low rise. His ‘escort’ began to move forward. Prime turned to face them and they stopped. The _snik_ of deploying weapons carried clearly. Optimus vented a sigh and turned away.

::We are on a private line, you may speak freely::

The snort echoed through his receiver. “You have the tightest surveillance around you, Mr. Prime, I don’t see how that’s possible.”

_If Lennox had been wrong about this contact…_ ::Please, call me Optimus.:: Optimus pinched his nose plating, schooling his vocals to calm. ::I trust the skills of my team as you trust your men. We are on a completely secure line. There will be no eavesdropping.::

“Very well--Optimus. I can take a very good guess why you’re contacting me, but I have to tell you, my hands are tied concerning any diplomatic overtures or treaties. I don’t have that kind of authority.”

::Nor would I ask you to involve yourself in that.:: Prime assured. ::We have reason to believe that certain things are being kept from you. What I am proposing is an offer of information as a first step towards trust and mutual cooperation.::

There was a telling pause. Prime looked up into the night sky and waited. The atmosphere filtered starlight into a scatter of glimmering lights. Behind him, soldiers spoke in quiet murmurs, clothing rustling in the chill air.

“Go on.”

_Please, let this work._

::A small contingent of men from the destroyed Base in Qatar has been assigned to hunt down a rogue Decepticon.::

“I’m aware, yes. There are a number of troops deployed there with them as we speak.”

::You may not be aware that the order has been changed from destroy to capture.::

“You have proof of this?”

::One of the men has verified those orders. He also gave your name as a possible friendly contact.::

There was only one man with access to highly sensitive information, in a position to contact them directly. Optimus waited again, praying to Primus that Lennox’s trust had not been misplaced.

Another long pause, indistinct voices on the other end, and when Morshower spoke again it was with barely suppressed anger.

“I’ll tell you right now, Optimus. I’ve been making careful inquiries about just that, and I’ve been stonewalled up until now.”

Anger was palpable through the comm and then it was contained and turned back to brisk and professional.

“My main concern now is for the safety of those men.”

Prime found himself liking the man more and more. Lennox, the men under his command, and now Morshower, these were humans he could work with. 

::It is mine as well, General. I would like to propose a temporary alliance for their sake and I will continue to relay information to you. If I may ask favor?::

“If it’s within my power, you have it.”

::My weapons specialist is monitoring the situation with the Decepticon drone, and is prepared to help track it down and destroy it. His contact there… well, let’s just say if this particular human should go missing, Ironhide will remove anything standing in his way to go and find him. I would prefer if he had help with that, quickly and quietly, to avoid any trouble.::

“Done. I’ll have a transport ready and waiting whenever you give the word.”

::Thank you, General.::

More voices in the background, some heated, then Morshower, voice sharp and to the point. _“Screw the treaty. Those diplomats have their heads up their asses if they can’t see this as an advantage…”_ More low voices and then Morshower was back, calm and controlled. 

“Thank you, Optimus. The more help we have on this, the better as far as I’m concerned.”

Prime disconnected from the call with less a sense of triumph than of profound relief. He turned to rejoin his ‘escort.’ The guards did not seem quite so intrusive now, their weapons not quite so blatant a sign of hostility. These here might not trust him, but others did. Finally, the beginnings of an alliance, and a firmer foothold on this planet. It was a start. 

Prime regarded the soldiers calmly before transforming back into vehicle mode. “Gentlemen, shall we go?” He didn’t wait for a response before rolling onto the road and heading back to base. 

_tbc_

 

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A/N: A million thank you’s for the kudos, comments and encouragement, dear readers, they keep me going in spite of too many real life delays. This fic continues, slowly but surely. Many, many thanks go to my lovely beta, quidamling, for suggestions, editing, plotting, and the ongoing development of this entire fic. So much love, hun. I could not do this without you. ♥♥♥


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